


Tea Gone Cold

by secondstar



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Blindfolds, Bondage, Butt Plugs, Canon-Typical Violence, Consensual Kink, Exhibitionism, Impact Play, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Phone Sex, Rope Bondage, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sensation Play, Sensory Deprivation, Spanking, Subspace, Switching, public bdsm scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-15 11:20:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4604781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secondstar/pseuds/secondstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trust isn't easy to come by, but that doesn't mean Q can't let go and seek out release when he needs it. Only, he wasn't expecting to find Bond looking for the same thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello, 00Q fandom! This is my first 00Q fic (hopefully of many).  
> I'd like to thank my beta's/brit pickers alanax21, echojewel, and scanky_chops for looking this over!  
> Rating will go up to E in Chapter 2, tags will be added when needed. Please let me know if you feel like I've left out any tags!
> 
> I can be found on tumblr @attoliancrown.  
> I've made a NSFW 00Q tumblr as well @doubleoh-q.

Picking up a cup of what one thinks is delicious, warm tea only to find that it has gone cold is in the forefront of undesirable circumstances for Q. Dissatisfying and somehow a sign of betrayal, disgust comes to the surface of his normally stoic demeanour. Frowning, Q looked down at the cup in question, still half full of his mid-afternoon tea, now chilled. Instead of heating it back up, he set the cup down, eyeing it before his gaze lifted back up to the screens before him. 

Within moments, someone swept by, picking it up to heat it as Q typed quickly at his keyboard, never so much as glancing down. He preferred standing, not being sedentary while he worked. He held his stress in his shoulders, could feel them tightening as he worked. Q rolled his neck, his eyes closing as he stopped working long enough to rub the soreness. He watched as his tea was returned to him, steaming.

“Thank you,” he said, picking it up, his eyes returning to the screen before him. 

He was waiting for 007 to make contact. 

It wasn’t uncommon for 007 to go under the radar, to only have his ear piece in when absolutely necessary, but a week is a long time. His tracker implant still worked, so it wasn’t as if Q didn’t know where he was, but the continued radio silence wasn’t something that Q was fond of when it was for a prolonged amount of time. 

“Any sign of Bond resurfacing?” Eve Moneypenny asked. She’d startled Q, but he showed no sign of it. He stopped typing momentarily, his fingers flexing, but that was it. 

“None,” Q said, glancing sideways at her without moving his head. “But that’s not uncommon with 007.” Eve had her arms crossed, her lips pursed. 

“True, but M would like to know the moment he decides to show himself.” 

“Right,” Q said, taking another sip of his tea. 

“Trust James to get the job done,” Eve said with a sigh. “He works better alone.” 

“Remarkably so,” Q said, the corner of his mouth lifting. “I outfitted him sufficiently, he’ll be quite alright.” 

“You sent him with the car?” She asked. 

“I did,” Q nodded. 

“How generous of you,” she said knowingly. “After last time, one would think he’d never so much as get a toothpick from you.” 

“Now that’s an idea,” Q said with a smirk. “I could do a lot to a toothpick.” Q looked at his watch, sighing. “I’ve got to check with R&D before heading home. Care to join me?” Q asked as he rolled his shoulders, massaging his hands slowly as he stepped away from his computer console. 

“Certainly,” Eve said, signalling for Q to lead the way. He opened the door to Q-Branch for her, turning to one of his assistants before walking out. 

“Contact me immediately if he resurfaces,” Q said with an authoritative cadence to his voice he rarely used. Q heard a ‘yes, sir,’ as the door closed behind him. He walked with his hands in his pockets, his head lifted, giving him an air of confidence as Eve walked beside him, her clipboard in hand. 

“What are you checking on?” Eve asked. 

“I’ve designed a pair of specs with a camera in them, and cufflink grenades. Still in the prototype stage at this point.” 

“I thought we were getting away from gadgets,” Eve said with a smile. Q returned it, opening the door to R&D for her. 

“Sometimes gadgets are necessary,” Q said. “Cufflinks and specs go under the radar, you see. Untraceable during a pat-down.”

“Good thinking,” Eve said as Q walked up to one of the researchers, looking down at his prototypes. Q picked up the specs, replacing them with his own. He then returned his own specs to his face and carefully picked up the cufflinks. 

“Have they been tested?” Q asked. 

“We were waiting for you, sir,” they said. Q smiled minutely, handing them over to the researcher. 

“By all means,” Q said, returning his hands to his pockets. “Let’s put on a show for Moneypenny.” They activated the cufflinks, then put them in a customized suppression box, that dampened the impact of the explosion. It merely sounded like distant gunshot, the vibration of which made Q shiver. When the box was opened, the inside was blackened, and the cufflinks were gone. 

“Impressive work, gentlemen,” Q said. “Can we make it so that the timer can be changed? We want to make sure that the agents are able to get out of the blast radius in time.” 

“How big is the blast radius?” Eve asked.  
“Considerably small,” Q said, biting his bottom lip as he stared at the box. “But there were only a few seconds before they went off-- safety is key.” 

“Of course,” the researcher said, writing down Q’s notes. “Thank you, sir.” 

On their way back to Q-Branch, Eve suggested that they go out for drinks. 

“Doesn’t the monotony get dull?” Eve asked when Q declined. “You get up, come here, go home and sleep only to get up and do it all again.” 

“Repetitiveness gives me a sense of calm,” Q said, forcing a smile. “I’m sorry Moneypenny, but I’ve a strict opposition to social drinking.” 

“So you only drink alone, then?” She asked. 

“Not at all,” Q said in answer as they walked down the hall. 

“Dinner, then,” she suggested. Q’s eyebrow lifted as he shrugged his shoulder. “Come on,” Eve said. “Tanner will buy.” 

“Oh so now it’s a group outing, is it?” Q stopped walking as his watch beeped, letting him know he had an alert. Bond had resurfaced. “Dinner will have to wait,” Q said as he started walking once more, this time at a more hurried pace. 

“Why? Eve asked, keeping in step with him. 

“007’s made contact.” 

-

Q had takeaway brought to him, which he let go cold three times before he was able to finish it. It was getting on three in the morning and he hadn’t left the console since seven, when Bond had patched in. He had, in fact, been kidnapped, but got himself out. How, Q wasn’t sure, as Bond wasn’t giving information over easily. But he was relatively safe, and got the information chip he’d been sent to retrieve. 

“I’ve got you on the next flight out, 007,” Q said as he rubbed at his eye, stifling a yawn. “As soon as you land, M wants a debrief.” 

“Of course,” Bond said. “Wouldn’t expect anything else at this point.” He was in a mood, Q could tell. On one hand, Q would probably be a little salty after being kidnapped, but on the other, it wasn’t Q who had done the kidnapping. 

“Try to get some rest, will you?” 

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” was Bond’s response. Q said nothing, his eyes looking to the clock. He turned off his com when Tanner stepped forward from the shadows. 

“Go home, Q,” Tanner said. “Be back for the debrief.” 

“Might as well not leave,” Q said, tight lipped. “Getting home at this hour is a nightmare.” 

“Then find a sofa,” Tanner suggested. “He’ll manage on his own.” Q gave Tanner a look, then turned his com back on. 

“007, I’m relieving myself. Tanner’s got you now.” 

“Well that certainly isn’t something I hear every day.” Q covered his mouth to suppress a laugh. He blamed the time of night, the fact that he hadn’t sat down in hours, and the fact that Bond had sunk to primary school humour. He composed himself before responding. 

“Q signing off.” 

-

The sofa wasn’t an ideal place to sleep, but Q was undisturbed until Moneypenny knocked. Inhaling sharply, Q reached for his specs, sitting up by his elbow pressed into the leather cushions. 

“You’re in a right state,” Eve said as she set a cup of tea on the table in front of him. He had an afghan thrown over him, his feet poking out as he sat up, running his fingers through his unruly hair. 

“Is he in yet?” Q asked, voice raspy from a mere few hours of sleep. He sipped at the tea, holding it with both hands like a lifeline. 

“No, but he’s landed at Heathrow.” 

Q closed his eyes, almost falling back asleep. 

“You have time to shower. Do you have another set of clothes here?” 

“I do,” Q said. “Thank you, Moneypenny,” he said as she headed towards the door. 

-

His hair was still wet as he sat in a small room, watching Bond’s debrief from behind a double sided mirror. Bond was perfectly aware that he was being watched, but ignored the window pane all together as he spoke succinctly. Q had his tablet in his lap, barely looking up as Bond talked of his kidnapping-- he’d been drugged, and of his escape. As his Quartermaster, Q was to be present at his debriefs, but that didn’t mean he was allowed to slack at his work. He had a lot on his plate and debriefs could be lengthy. 

Q adjusted his specs as he glanced up, looking out into the small debriefing room where M, Bond, and Tanner sat. In the middle of coding, Q was only half paying attention when his name came up. 

“Could Q have prevented the kidnapping?” M asked, innocently enough. Q bristled, his lips in a thin line. Bond looked towards the mirror briefly, the first sign that he knew Q was behind it. Moneypenny was beside Q, standing with her arms crossed. She looked at Q, but he didn’t acknowledge it. Bond took a breath before answering, his shoulders obviously tense instead of the relaxed posture he’d held moments before. 

“No,” Bond said in answer. “He could not have.” Bond accentuated each word slowly, his eyes narrowing. Q lifted an eyebrow before his gaze returned to his tablet. 

“Interesting,” Moneypenny said. Q didn’t respond as the topic of conversation segued back to the mission, instead of taking a jab at Q’s work. As it wrapped up, Q stood up, not even looking up from his tablet as Moneypenny opened the door. 

“Thank you,” he said, licking his lips as they stepped foot out into the hall, where they ran into M, Tanner, and Bond. The point of being in a separate room when both parties emerged at the same time was lost on Q, though he supposed it was all a formality. He was merely an observer to the process, though he had to submit his own after action report. 

“Q,” Bond said as they walked down the hall, in step with each other. Q locked his tablet, holding it against his chest as he looked up, the corner of his mouth lifting. Bond walked with his hands in his pockets, at ease beside him. 

“007,” Q said. “Glad to see you’re back.” 

“It’ll take more than that to lose me.” 

“Off to medical?” Q asked, his voice even as Bond looked him over, his eyes lingering on Q’s drying hair. 

“A check up, as is procedure. I’ll be by Q-Branch after?” 

“Returning all of your equipment, I hope,” Q said before taking a turn away from Bond. He heard Bond laugh as their distance grew. Moneypenny followed, with Q holding the door open for her. 

“Bets on if anything is returned?” she asked. Q wasn’t a betting man, usually, but as they approached his work station, he was in a mood. 

“I say he better have returned the bloody car,” Q said, giving Moneypenny a look. 

-

Bond didn’t show up from medical until hours later, looking rather sleep addled. One of the technical assistants usually gathered equipment from the double-oh’s, but Bond made his way to Q, bypassing the lot of them. Q was at the front of the room, with giant screens behind him as he worked on decrypting a computer that was handed to him earlier that morning. His report was put on the back burner, priority shifted to retrieving the intel. 

“007,” Q said, pausing long enough to give Bond a side long glance. “Emma can assist you in returning your equipment.” Bond stood beside him, unmoving, his hands in his pockets, ever casual. 

“I’d rather not,” Bond said simply. Q fought back rolling his eyes, instead reaching for his tea; it was cold but he sipped it anyway, hiding his dislike. 

“I’m quite busy,” Q said as he stopped working, turning towards him, giving Bond his full attention. Well, full attention until one of the assistants saw that Q wasn’t occupied and rushed over with something he needed to look over. In general, they knew not to bother him. Bond didn’t follow Q-Branch etiquette in the slightest. 

“I wanted to discuss the chip,” Bond stated, looking over Q’s shoulder at the document he was looking over. Q narrowed his eyes at him: he despised when people read over his shoulder. Q turned the opposite direction, cutting off Bond’s view as he signed at the bottom illegibly, his signature not giving any indication of his name. 

“Ah, yes,” Q said, giving into a smile, looking into Bond’s eyes momentarily. He looked away, back at his computer so he wouldn’t get trapped in them. He coughed, adjusting his specs. “I’ve not yet received it, but be assured that as soon as I do, I’ll make it first priority.” 

“That’s just it,” Bond said, his voice cautionary. Q returned his gaze to Bond, his eyebrows lifted in anticipation. “It’s damaged.” 

“Damaged how?” Q asked, his voice dangerous. “That wasn’t in the debriefing,” Q pointed out. “You left out a very important detail, 007.” 

“I returned the car,” Bond said, placating. Q laughed derisively. 

“Well thank fuck,” Q said, running his finger through his hair, showing tendrils of emotion. He pushed them to the back of his mind. He was professional, didn’t lose his temper readily.“Did you snap it in half or is it-- how do you know it’s damaged?” Q stared intently as Bond’s jaw tightened. “Bond.” 

“I tried it myself, it’s blank.” 

“It can’t be,” Q said, shaking his head. “And why would you-- your objective was retrieval, you aren’t a technician. I know you’re competent, Bond, I read your file. Hacking M’s computer and getting past her security-- but that’s my job, 007,” Q said, hissing in anger as he jabbed at Bond’s shoulder. They were practically the same height, were eye level, but the size difference due to muscle mass was obvious. Even still, Q wasn’t afraid to show the fact that he was miffed. “You’re dismissed,” Q said through gritted teeth. 

He turned his attention back to his work, while Bond continued standing there for a few long seconds later. Q’s heart was beating harshly as he tried to quell his frustration. Eventually, Bond left without another word. 

Hours later, Q resurfaced from his work to find Q-Branch all but abandoned. He looked down at his watch to find that it was late. He’d spent almost three days straight working. Blinking rapidly as he sighed, Q began saving his work. He grabbed his things, a messenger bag with his personal computer and work tablet, along with his rain jacket. 

“Q,” Tanner said as he came across him in the hall, also on his way out. “We’ve just processed the chip that Bond retrieved. You’ll get it first thing in the morning.” 

“Did you see anything wrong with it?” Q asked. 

“Not at first glance, no. Sorry you didn’t get it today, but it sat on a desk for most of the day without being processed.”

“It happens,” Q said, finding himself suddenly exhausted. He rubbed at his eye as they emerged above ground. It wasn’t too late to take the tube, thankfully. Tanner walked with him to the station, obviously taking it himself. “I’ll shift priority in the morning.” 

“Have a good night, Q,” Tanner said, heading to another platform. 

-

It took Q an hour to get home, which was normal. He unzipped his jacket, put his messenger bag down on his kitchen table, then walked straight towards the bathroom, where he drew a bath. He needed to relax, unwind before he crashed. What he needed was a day off, but those were few and far between. What he really needed was release, to let go. He didn’t have much of a social life, it was a rarity in his field, but he did enjoy the occasional session at a local bdsm club he was a member of. He used an alias, of course. 

He stripped down to nothing, walking freely through his flat, pouring himself a glass of wine. He’d told Moneypenny that he didn’t drink alone, but that wasn’t quite the truth. There was nothing undignified about having a glass to unwind after working sixty-four of the last seventy-two hours. 

Once in the bath, Q let himself relax. He closed his eyes, sipping at the wine as he tried, in vain, not to think of work. His body ached, a testament to how hard he worked. Paracetamol was a constant in his life, and he’d definitely take some before he turned in for the night. He washed up, downing the rest of the wine, allowing himself release before he finished washing up. It was quick, barely got the edge off, but helped him relax enough that he could sleep easily. He dried off, wrapping the towel around his waist, returning to the kitchen to clean his wine glass. Q felt its effects, considering the fact that he hadn’t eaten in twelve hours. He raided his fridge, finding it rather empty, save for cuts of lunch meat, cheeses, and crackers. It would have to do; he was barely home enough to have much else. 

A midnight snack before bed was his normal. As he munched, he checked his email on his tablet, still in his towel. There was no use in changing; he slept naked. Once he was satisfyingly full, he cleaned up his mess, bringing his tablet with him to bed. With his towel discarded in the bathroom, hanging up to dry, he climbed into bed, his tablet resting against his thighs as leaned back, responding to emails. 

As he was typing, he got a response from Moneypenny that simply read: go to sleep. Q rolled his eyes, putting his tablet aside. He set the alarm on his watch, which he’d designed himself, to vibrate him awake at a decent time. It didn’t take him long to fall asleep once he’d turn the lights off. 

-

Bond wasn’t quite right about the chip being damaged. Yes, at first it looked blank, like it’d been wiped, actually, but that wasn’t the case. It was a facade, with the contents remaining intact, but hidden behind a pesky firewall that took Q a measly two minutes to crack. It was laughable, really, considering the stress Bond had put on Q the day before. It even looked as though Q would get out of work at a decent hour, which was practically unheard of. And on a Friday, to boot. Q had a skip to his step when he presented the contents of the chip to M and Tanner, his excitement at the prospect of a night off had him positively giddy. Now, most of that was internal, with his facade remaining professional and not at all fidgety. 

Moneypenny noticed, though, as Q walked briskly back to Q-Branch to gather his things. 

“Have somewhere to be?” She asked. 

“Perhaps,” Q said, giving her a look as he shut down his electronics. “It’s Friday, you know.”

“Any big plans? A date?” 

“Not as such,” Q said, allowing a smile as he thought about finally being able to let go. “A quiet night ahead with a book, just what the doctor ordered.” It wasn’t true, but surely that would be what he was going to do _after_ a session to unwind. 

“How adventurous,” Moneypenny said, smiling at him as she shook her head. “Enjoy yourself. You in tomorrow?” 

“The work never stops,” Q said as he walked out of Q-Branch without so much as a backwards glance. He’d been in charge for almost nine months -- in that time he’d had a mere handful of days off and a lot of pent up sexual aggression he wanted to get out. It was about damn time he got a night to himself.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to ionsquare for the beta read, along with my brit pickers! you guys rock :) 
> 
> expect updates every five days! 
> 
> Heed tags, and the rating change! xx let me know if you think I've glossed over a tag/forgotten one!

As far as alias’ go, Q was under the impression that keeping to his initials when possible was easiest, especially when it came to his alias for the BDSM community. There were multiple reasons, for instance: the fact that if he entered subspace and they used a name similar to his own it would be easier for him to recognize it. Another being the fact that the brain automatically recalls names that are similar. Therefore, Q went by Alvin. It had the same cadence as his real name, even started with the same letter as his own. It was as close as he could think of, for his own safety in a situation where he gave himself over to someone else, or even if he took the reigns. 

Q’s mood varied, in terms of switching. Most of the time, he found that he wanted to be dominant, to make the person beneath his ministrations beg for his touch. Sometimes, though, he wanted nothing more than to fall to his knees, to be taken care of, to not think. Being dominant meant taking care of his charge, to bring them pleasure whether it be through pain or being bound, or simply caring for them. 

After being strung out at work to the point that his hands were shaky and sleep seemed like an allusive thing that happened once or twice a week, Q decided that what he needed was to forget himself for a night, to give in to the touch of another and to simply be in the moment. What he needed was to be at the mercy of another. 

He thought about it on the tube on his commute home. He mused about the possibilities in the shower as he readied himself, taking his time, even bringing himself to orgasm at the mere thought of the night ahead before stepping out of the spray. He shaved, staring himself in the mirror, licking his lips before messing with his uncontrollable hair that he pat dry with a towel. 

Before he dressed, he called the club, insuring himself a spot. They had an opening, surprising for a Friday night, but by the tone of the hostesses voice she might have fit him in once she realized who he was. He hadn’t stepped foot in the club at least two months. Q used to have a social life, before becoming Quartermaster. If she was surprised when Q stated his preference for the evening, she didn’t let on. 

“Public or private?” She asked. Q thought about it as he sat on his bed with a knee pulled up to his chest. There were merits to both. Privacy, overall, felt more personal. What he wanted, craved, was an edge. 

“Public,” Q said. “If a timeslot is available.”

“Of course,” the hostess, Samantha, said. “If you arrive an hour before, around nine, we can introduce you; have you met Richard before?” 

“I don’t think I have,” Q said. 

“Before the scene, we’d like you to have time together to go over your limits. We have your sheet on file, but it’s always best to insure that both parties are compatible.”

“Of course,” Q said, running his fingers through his hair, tugging at it as he spoke over the phone. “I’ll see you at nine.” 

He had little time to get ready if he were to hop on the tube and get there by nine, so Q tossed his phone onto the bed and discarded his towel. He dressed in tight black jeans, his look completely different than the jumpers and argyle he wore at work. He pulled on a simple maroon v-neck shirt, along with black boots. His rain jacket would have to do as well, with the fog and mist settling in for the night. 

Q made sure to grab his phone, wallet, and keys before heading out the door, locking it before jogging down the stairs and out onto the streets of London, turning right towards the closest tube station. He didn’t have to wait long on the platform before one arrived, managing to snag himself a seat before it headed towards the club. 

On the outside, it looked like every other hole in the wall pub, indistinguishable from the rest with a bouncer at the entrance, though there was no wait. Q pulled out his ID, a fake he’d made years ago, faded for authenticity. Alvin Abbot. The bouncer cross referenced his name on his iPad, putting a wristband around his left wrist. The colours were always the same, for interest in finding partners. His was always purple, for switch. Red was for dominants, blue for submissives. Q found it all very quaint, colour theory and all. He smiled at the bouncer before he was let inside, fiddling with the wristband. 

The inside was bigger than the exterior let on, with an open floor plan and dim lighting. There were designated scene areas, distinguished with padded flooring and already set up equipment. He was greeted by Samantha, who stood at a hostess booth. She looked ravishing in thigh high boots and a corset. Q smiled at her as she looked him over. 

“Alvin,” she said, her smile genuine. “It’s been too long.” 

“I regret staying away for so long,” he said truthfully. He put his hands in his pockets, rolling back and forth on his heels. “I’ve missed this.” 

“Hopefully you won’t stay away so long between scenes this time,” she said easily, tilting her head to the side, indicating for Q to follow her. “Richard just arrived a few minutes ago, we have him in one of our private meeting rooms.” 

“Perfect,” Q said as he exhaled, looking around the club as she lead the way. Q was used to singular scenes with partners, he even prefered it, with his line of work. He couldn’t stumble into a relationship when he held integral information for MI6, he couldn’t allow himself to get that close to anyone. Trust wasn’t something freely given, not when it came to his thoughts and feelings. Trust, in regards to sex and play, was completely different to Q. His body he could give over easily, but a relationship was something else altogether that Q wasn’t prepared to give in to. 

Richard, whoever he was, would have Q for the evening, but that was it. He was at the club for release, a way to let go for a few hours. He wasn’t here for something more. The door opened to find a man, of the same height as Q, but with broader shoulders and olive skin, hair slicked back and a nose not quite in proportion with the rest of his face. They shook hands as Samantha introduced them. Q didn’t feel anything, not a spark, not giddiness. He hoped he was a good dom, if only for his own sake. He had needs, which was why he was there. Samantha left them alone to get to know each other. 

“Alvin, is it?” Richard asked as he indicated with a hand for Q to sit. Q narrowed his eyes, but sat, his eyes falling to the red wrist band around Richard’s wrist. 

“Yes,” he said. 

“Do you have a safeword, Alvin?” Richard asked. He didn’t join Q in sitting, but instead walked around the chair, as if sizing him up. Q’s mouth twitched. 

“Union Jack,” he said. Richard scoffed, lifting an eyebrow but nodded his head. “Yours?” 

“Elephant.” 

“Noted,” Q said, his fingers raking through his hair as he watched Richard circle him. 

“What are you looking for tonight?” Richard asked. “They gave me your file, of course, but since you switch, I wasn’t sure what to expect.” 

“Hmm,” Q hummed, wiggling in his seat as he adjusted his jeans, tugging at them as he thought, biting his bottom lip. He didn’t flinch as Richard’s finger dragged across his shoulders, up his neck. He could be demure, play coy, but this wasn’t about Richard, it was about him. Q wasn’t a docile submissive by any means. He liked to push, SO he lifted his chin, looking Richard in the eyes. 

“I want to forget where I am and who I am, for a little while.” 

“I see,” Richard said. Q’s fists clenched against his thighs as Richard’s thumb brushed across his bottom lip. “It said you liked spanking.” 

“I do,” Q said, his eyes closing momentarily as warmth spread throughout his body as arousal began to stir within him. He swallowed, his adam’s apple bobbing up and down. Richard stood in front of him, his legs between Q’s, which were spread. Richard knees them open more. “I like how it feels the day after.” 

“I bet your skin bruises easily,” Richard said, his eyelids heavy. 

“It does,” Q relented, his chest rising and falling more rapidly as the seconds passed. “What do you want me to call you?” 

“Sir will do fine,” Richard said. “Once the scene begins, of course.” 

“Of course,” Q said, licking his lips. He adjusted his specs. 

“Blindfolds?” Richard asked. 

“Ah, no,” Q said. “Not during a public scene.”

“Pity,” was all Richard said about it. “Being bound?”

“Yes,” Q said.

“Gagged?” 

“Let’s not,” Q said, clearing his throat. “Safewording by signal only isn’t a first scene occurrence for me.” 

“Understandable,” Richard said, looking down at Q, calculating. “Do you wish to get off?”

“Yes,” Q said. 

“Denial alright?” Richard asked, crouching down in front of him, his hands resting on Q’s knees. 

“Yes, I do love to beg,” Q said with a smirk. Richard grinned at him, his pupils dilating. 

“You’ll be begging for it,” Richard said. “I can assure you of that.”

-

Their scene was set up in a corner of the club, not in one of the main spaces. Considering Q hadn’t done a public scene in months, he was alright with it. He walked out already naked, barefoot. He looked out into the gathering crowd as his wrists were bound to a rope that hung from the ceiling. It wasn’t pulled taut, with his wrists just above his head. His ankles were cuffed to the floor with D rings, his legs spread. They’d talked for almost an hour, discussing thoroughly what was to be done to him. Q wasn’t hard, but he knew it wouldn’t take him long before his body reacted to being bound. Richard’s hands smoothed down Q’s back as he pushed Q to lean forward. He bent, his fingers clutching at the rope that held him up. His wrists were wrapped four times, and though it was secure, it was in no way cutting off his circulation. Richard cupped Q’s ass, spreading his cheeks before stepping away for a moment. Q closed his eyes, concentrating on breathing. 

The first smack made him flinch, his mouth falling open. The second, he let out a minute moan, unable to hold it in as his toes curled. He felt nothing but the sting, the dull ache it left behind as his skin heated up with each resounding touch. He rocked against each slap, biting his lip as he opened his eyes. 

His vision, despite the fact that he was wearing his specs, seemed to blur as Richard touched his cock, stroking him quickly before letting go. Q shook, his muscles tensing as he let his head fall, looking down at his leaking cock. Behind him, Richard dropped to his knees, caressing Q’s ass before kissing a bruising cheek, biting down then sucking on it. He jacked Q off, as well, quick then slow, taking care to massage the head of his cock. He brought Q close to the edge, only to release his grip and return his attention back to Q’s ass, alternating between lightly smacking and landing harder slaps, making Q groan and tug at the ropes. Q panted, his head lifting. He swore his heart stopped as he looked out into the crowd, his gaze landing on no other than James Bond just as Richard landed a particularly hard smack across his oversensitized backside. Q closed his eyes involuntarily, his stomach tightening as he came, letting out a whimpering groan as his body relaxed, the rope holding him up. 

When he opened his eyes, looking out into the crowd once more, James was gone, if he’d even truly been there to begin with. His mind was foggy, his body thumping as blood flowed through his body, his limbs tingling as he was untied and wrapped in a blanket. He was lead to the private room where he’d changed clothes, where he and Richard discussed the scene. They didn’t get to everything, the denial not as prominent, because Q came without realizing he was that close. His hands were shaking as he knelt instead of sitting down, because he was unable to do so, his arse stinging brutally. Hands on his face brought his thoughts to the surface, fingers in his hair. Q opened his eyes, finding the sight of Richard jarring when his thoughts had been on someone else. Addled, Q flinched. 

“Do you want me to help clean you up?” Richard asked. Q did nothing but nod his head; aftercare was important, and he knew he’d drop if not taken care of, despite the fact that it wasn’t Richard’s care his mind sought out. A warm washcloth cleaned up his softened cock and stomach, the blanket set aside for the moment. Soothing lotion was massaged into his backside as he leaned forward on his hands and knees, his head hung low. “You were beautiful,” Richard said, his fingers running through Q’s hair afterwards. Q concentrated on his own breathing, his mind completely blank. 

He’d got what he wanted, to be lost in the feeling of his sore arse, the fact that he hadn’t needed to think. What he hadn’t expected was to imagine James’ face in the crowd. It was troublesome, and Q didn’t currently have the brain capacity to sparse it all out. Instead, he sat up from where his head had been laying in Richard’s lap. He winced as he sat there, looking around the room for his things. He was still naked, though covered with the blanket. 

“Thank you,” Q said, looking Richard in the eyes. “That was exactly what I needed,” he replied as he stood.

“Anytime,” Richard said as he, too, stood. “I hope we can do a scene again together sometime.” Q looked again at Richard’s wristband, the corner of his mouth lifting. 

“Perhaps,” he said, though he knew he probably wouldn’t. Delicately, he pulled on his pants, then his jeans, hissing as the fabric brushed over his sensitive skin. His shirt was easier to put back on, but sitting to put on his boots was troublesome. Richard bent over, helping him with them. Q held onto Richard’s shoulders. “Thank you.” 

“Get some rest, take a bath,” Richard instructed. He then handed Q a card with his information. “In case you need anything, if you drop.” 

“Thank you,” Q said, putting the card in his wallet. Subdrop wasn’t something he’d experienced himself, but knew it to be serious. Q stepped forward, cupping Richard’s cheek with a hand as his lips pressed at the corner of his mouth in a chaste kiss. “For everything.” 

When Q rode the tube home, he stood, despite the fact that there were more than enough seats available. 

-

Q woke up to the sound of his alarm. He rolled over, regretfully, pain blossoming not only from his arse, but his thighs as well from the strain of bending over for so long, and his wrists. He lifted his wrists after he put his specs on, admiring the discoloration, the bruises that were formed, rope shaped, around his wrists. He still had his purple wristband on, as well. 

He was slow to get going, wincing as he tried to stretch out. He put on his softest pair of trousers, his favourite socks, and a comfortable jumper that was a little too long in the sleeves. It made him look even younger than he normally did, but he didn’t care. It was a Saturday, and not all of his staff would be in. Hoping for a skeleton staff, Q went in to work with his mind clearer, his body more relaxed than it had been in ages, despite the soreness. 

Q spent his days standing, so it wasn’t unusual that he didn’t once sit down. He drank three cups of tea before lunch, not letting a single cup go cold as he worked.

“You’re in a good mood,” Moneypenny said when she visited just after lunch. Q smiled, barely looking away from the giant screen before him. “Have fun last night?”

“I did enjoy myself, yes,” Q said, remembering that he had told her that he was going to be reading. “Ended up going out.” 

“Oh? Do tell.”

Q let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he recalled the feel of each slap against his skin. 

“Just a little fun, something I seldom allow myself,” he said, blinking rapidly to erase such thoughts as he coded. “To what do I owe to the pleasure of your visit?”

Eve handed Q a file.

He opened it, looking over the specs for a mission with 007.

“He’s only just gotten back,” Q pointed out.

Eve lifted an eyebrow, shrugging as she headed for the door. “Be sure he’s outfitted properly.”

“Of course,” Q muttered to himself, looking over the file more thoroughly as he sighed. It reminded him of his mishap the night before, imagining Bond in the crowd. Q shook his head, setting the file aside for the time being. 

Not even an hour later, Bond appeared, startling Q. 

“A bit jumpy today, Q?” Bond asked, clearly amused and a little bit smug. 

“Your hubris doesn’t become you, 007,” Q said, pursing his lips as he squinted at the screen before him, his fingers moving swiftly over his keyboard. 

“I’m not so sure,” Bond said, the amusement still in his voice. Q’s eyebrows quirked upwards, though he policed the rest of his face, instead turning to pick up his tea as he looked Bond up and down. Impeccably dressed, as always, in a suit tailored to fit. Bond, too, looked Q over, his eyes resting on Q’s sleeves. He refused to feel even a little bit self-conscious on his decision to dress comfortably. It was a Saturday, after all, and his wrists smarted from typing and constantly brushing his bruises. Bond stared openly, without looking away until he locked eyes with Q. “How are your wrists?” 

The question was simple, but telling. Q’s eyes widened ever so slightly at the implication. Bond’s eyes were blue, knowing in a way that stripped Q bare. Q hadn’t envisioned Bond; he’d really been there. He’d seen Q at his most vulnerable. Q’s stomach lurched, but he sipped at his tea anyways, though he looked away from Bond’s gaze. 

“Well taken care of,” Q said, his answer delayed as he set his cup down, turning his back on Bond, a flush to his cheeks keeping him from looking at him. He pushed his specs against his nose. Bond made his point -- he’d seen, he knows. The topic wasn’t up for discussion as far as Q was concerned, especially not in the middle of Q-Branch. 

“Q--”

“If you return in two hours, I’ll have your equipment ready,” Q said, dismissing him. He looked at Bond, his eyes daring him to bring it up. “Please come back then.” 

“Yes, sir,” Bond said, the tone of his voice changing as he said ‘sir’. Q repressed a shudder, his lips pursing in a thin line as Bond walked away without so much as looking back, his gait casual, reassured. Q wanted to ring his neck, the gall he had. Instead, he went back to work, trying to ignore the dull ache he felt with each movement he made.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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Having Bond in his ear for almost three days straight while he was on a mission was driving Q batty. It wasn’t ideal, after Bond so blatantly let Q know that he’d been at the club. He had no qualms about letting Q know, which was unnerving. Q had been adamant with himself, when he signed on with MI-6, that he keep his social life separate from his work life. Granted, he didn’t have much of a social life, but that was beside the point of the entire ordeal. 

He didn’t have the time to be worried about Bond spreading workplace rumors, though he doubted it would surface. After all, Bond himself had been at the club in the first place. Voyeur or no, there was a certain understanding in the silence between them on the matter at hand. Q helped guide Bond through the mission, remaining professional, albeit a bit dryer than he had in the past. 

By the time Bond returned to British soil, Q’s backside bruises had faded, and the marks on his wrists were no longer visible. When Bond returned his equipment, or what was left it of, Q had his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows because for some reason Q-Branch was running a bit hot, despite the time of year. Bond’s gaze didn’t go unnoticed as Q looked over the equipment. 

“Thank you for returning almost everything in one piece, 007,” Q said, giving him a small smile as he examined everything before him. 

“Not a problem, Q,” Bond said, not afraid to lock eyes with him. “Good to see you’ve healed.” 

Q took in a sharp breath, an eyebrow lifting as he nodded his head. 

“As such,” Q said, the corner of his mouth lifting. “I’d rather not discuss the matter so openly,” he said, his tone light though the implication pushed through his facial expression. In a stare off or sorts, Bond nodded in his understand. 

“Perhaps in private, then?” Bond said, his hands sliding into his pockets as Q’s chest tightened. “Dinner tonight?”

Q cleared his throat, shrugging a shoulder as he thought about his checklist for the day, along with the fact that he wasn’t sure he wanted to take that step with Bond. He was well aware of Bond’s promiscuity in the name of Queen and Country, and he had no doubts about the odds that there were other partners on top of those he bedded for missions. 

“If you see medical and finish your reports in time,” Q found himself saying, giving Bond a look. “I’ll see you for the debrief soon enough.” 

“But I won’t see you,” Bond pointed out, leaning in, their shoulders mere inches apart as he whispered the words. 

“Quite right,” Q said, turning his head fractionally, meeting Bond’s eyes in a challenge. Instead of keeping his gaze, Bond looked to Q’s lips. 

“I’ll come round when I’m finished.”

Q was about to let Bond step away from him, but he thought again about Bond’s escapades. With his eyes focused on the computer screen in front of him, voice hushed, he said with a neutral tone, “Oh, and Bond? If you’re implying what I think you are, you’ll need up-to-date test results from medical.”

Bond didn’t move, as if calculating what he wanted to say. Q didn’t hesitate as he began typing. 

“Yes, sir.” 

-

Q was distracted throughout the debrief, but instead of his work keeping his mind away from the debrief itself, it was Bond who held his attention. The way he held himself, how he sat, each facial expression change, though minute, was telling. Bond was impatient, wanted the meeting to be over, and he wasn’t afraid to hide it. Amused, Q couldn’t keep the smile off of his face. 

“Peculiar,” Eve said. Q adjusted himself in his seat, letting out a breath before answering. 

“What is?” He asked, bringing his tablet screen to life with a tape of his finger. 

“The fact that Bond keeps looking in the mirror,” Eve said. Q schooled his facial expression, his eyes locking with Bond’s. Well, they would if Bond could see Q, but there was no way for it to be possible. “He’s twitchy today.”

“He’s probably exhausted; needs a nap, perhaps,” Q said as he stood up. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go down to R&D.” 

He didn’t actually need to go down to Research and Development, but he found that it freed his mind a bit, being able to tinker for a few hours. He set aside his tablet, and got to work, forgetting about his personal problems and replacing them with soldering tools and dangerous explosives not in the form of pens. 

The afternoon flew by, and before Q knew it, his mid-afternoon cuppa was finished and half of his staff had cleared out for the evening. He pondered making another cup of tea, but ended up not stepping away from his desk. He’d spent a good two hours down in R&D and had to make up the time he’d missed doing his actual job. 

Distantly, his brain knew that the door to Q-Branch had opened, but he was too immersed in his work to be otherwise bothered. Overall, while working, he had tunnel vision and tended not to take into account his situational awareness or that of others, so when paperwork was smacked down onto his desk beside his keyboard he jumped. His shoulders hunched, his eyes widened as he turned sharply to look at Bond, who had a smug grin on his face as he leaned against the desk. Q looked down at the paperwork, obviously from medical. Q swallowed, his lips in a thin line as he continued typing. 

“I brought it, just as you asked,” Bond said, looking over Q’s shoulder. Q saved his coding, then quickly turned off the monitor, giving Bond a cursory glare before turning his attention to the packet of paperwork. There, plain as day, were the results of Bond’s lab work stating that he was clean, dated that afternoon. Q flipped the page over to the next, his eyes quickly scanning over the doctor’s notes. 

“You’ve got two bruised ribs,” Q said, looking Bond up and down for sign of injury. 

“From last week,” Bond replied simply. “It’s nothing.”

Q sighed, putting the paperwork down, then folding his arms as he looked openly at Bond. “Tell me, 007, what exactly is it that you want from this?” He wanted Bond to be honest. 

“Dinner, time alone -- with you.” 

“Why?”

Bond looked away from him, searching the walls of the room seemingly for an answer. When his gaze returned to Q’s, Q felt stripped bare before him. “Because you intrigue me.” 

“Is that it?” Q asked in a hushed tone. Bond was dangerously close to him now. All he’d have to do was lean forward and his lips would be on Bond’s. 

“Because I like a good chase,” Bond stated, his eyes narrowing. “And I can’t get the image of you tied up out of my head.”

Q smirked, breaking eye contact as he looked down at his feet, his bottom lip catching on his teeth. “Dinner, then? I’ll have you know I’m in the mood for tapas.” 

“Tapas it is, then,” Bond said, opening the door for Q as they walked out. “I know just the place.” 

-

Bond’s car was flashy, not at all Q’s style, but Bond liked lavish, that much Q knew. He could imagine Bond’s flat, though he knew that when he was thought dead MI-6 had sold it. Q wasn’t sure if Bond’s new one had a different feel than surely his old one had done. The drive wasn’t long, stopping in front of the restaurant for a valet to park it. Bond tipped them well to take care of the Aston Martin while Q stood by the door, the mist wetting his specs as he waited. The door was opened for them by a host, their coats taken to be put in a coat check. 

When Q said tapas, what he meant was a cafe around the corner from his flat that served them without pomp and circumstance. Of course, Bond chose the most expensive tapas restaurant in London. Using his charms, Bond managed to get them a table without a wait. He even let Q sit first, though he chose the seat he knew Bond didn’t want, the one with his back on the door. 

Bond sat down, his eyes casting over the restaurant, always on high alert. 

“Do you ever turn off?” Q asked. Bond raised his eyebrows at him, waving his hand in error. “I meant, how you just checked the room. The constant vigilance, do you ever turn it off?” 

“No,” Bond said, though he sounded amused as water was poured for them and menus handed out. “I don’t think so.” 

“Pity,” Q said, looking over the menu. “I’d love to see you let go.” He didn’t look up at Bond to see his reaction, though he noticed that Bond had sat up a little straighter. 

“Something I didn’t manage to catch that night,” Bond said conversationally, “was the colour of your wristband.” Q looked up, placing his elbows on the table and clasping his hands together, setting his chin atop them. 

“What colour do you think it was?” Q asked.

Bond looked him over, obviously enjoying the little game. “Well, you were bound,” he pointed out, to which Q nodded. “But something about you tells me that that isn’t always the case.”

Q gave him a small smile before he took a sip of his water.

“I want to say blue, but that’s my wishful thinking ... and the fact that I keep picturing you on your knees.” 

“Vulgar talk for a fancy dinner,” Q said, raising his eyebrows. 

“This is hardly fancy,” Bond said, looking around. 

“I’d like to see you on your knees as well,” Q said as their waitress appeared, the look on Bond’s face priceless as his brain tried to catch up with Q’s words. Q ordered what he wanted, with Bond adding in his own, along with a bottle of wine to share. 

“I wasn’t expecting that,” Bond said once the waitress was gone. 

“My wristband is purple,” Q said, shrugging. “You caught me on a particularly needy night.” 

“‘Needy’, you call it?” Bond quipped. 

“Quite,” Q said, sitting back in his chair, his legs crossed. “Sometimes the job is stressful, and I need to let go, to not think. I find the best way to accomplish that is to be at someone else's mercy.” 

“So when you asked if I ever turned off--”

“I’d very much like to see you come undone,” Q said with a smile. “If you’re interested.” 

“I am,” Bond said, the conversation halting as their wine was brought over and poured for them. “I think that would be an experience I’d very much like.”

Q sipped at his wine, pleased with himself for keeping it together so spectacularly, despite the fact that he wasn’t prepared to take on Bond as a dom. It would jeopardize their workplace relationship, not to mention the fact that Bond’s life was literally in Q’s hands while on missions. 

“If you’re sure,” Q said. 

“I am if you are.” 

“The ramifications would be dire,” Q felt the need to point out as their food arrived. There was more than enough for the two of them, with extra plates for them to share. Q took a moment to fill his plate with food before continuing. 

“If this turned sour...” 

“Scenes are just that,” Bond said. “Nothing more.”

Q hummed quietly to himself, not sure he believed Bond. 

“Attachment could happen,” Q said bluntly. “If I find that I cannot separate work from a scene, I will end it.” 

“Of course. You or I can back out at any time.” 

“Verbal agreement enough for you? Or should I write up a contract?”

“Verbal is fine,” Bond said, watching as Q ate. “Though I would like my chance to have you as you’ll have me.”

Q stopped chewing for a moment, licking at his thumb as he mulled over Bond’s words. “You want me to be your submissive as well?” 

“You said yourself that you wore a purple wristband.” 

“I said when my mood allows it, I’ve been known to be a sub,” Q said, turning his wine glass around delicately on the table. “The mood is rare, I assure you.” 

“I’m patient,” Bond said.

Q laughed, shaking his head. “What? I can be patient.” 

“Consider it your new challenge, then,” Q said. “See if you’re patient enough.” 

“I do love a good challenge.” 

-

In the end, Q had Bond drop him off at the closest tube station instead of driving him to his flat. He wanted boundaries, needed them, if they were to actually do a scene together. He refused to jump into it without forethought. He leaned over, in the car, kissing Bond chastely on the lips before pulling away. Bond chased the kiss, seeking more, but Q denied him, though he ached for more. There would be time for that, later. 

“Good night, Bond,” Q said as he opened the door. 

“Tomorrow, then,” James said, his hand on the clutch, ready to drive off as soon as the door was shut. 

“Yes,” Q said, giving him a reassuring smile. 

They’d made a date, at Bond’s flat, for the following evening. The initial idea of a neutral ground, a hotel room, came to mind, but both decided against it. Bond assured Q that he had everything they needed for the scene, which was enough to placate Q’s worries on the matter. 

Q’s flat felt empty as he entered it. It was early, yet, so he put the electric kettle on to make a cup of tea as he changed into his pyjamas. He was known to work from home into the night, so it wasn’t out of the ordinary for him to do so. 

The first sip was always the best, calming, all encompassing warmth that spread throughout his body as he sat cross legged on his sofa with his computer set up in front of him on an elevated custom desk that popped out of his coffee table. Beside him, Q’s phone buzzed. His eyebrow lifted as he saw the ID screen read as ‘007’. 

“007,” Q said as he answered it, on speaker, so that he could begin answering emails easily. 

“Q,” Bond said. “It occurred to me that I have nothing to call you except Q, which I associate with work. I want something else to call you.”

Q smiled to himself, because James didn’t ask for his real name, just for an alternate to Q. He thought about giving Bond the name he gave the club, Alvin, but he didn’t want the scene to be false. 

“Can’t get into my file, can you?” Q accused, lighthearted. 

“It’s redacted, I’m afraid,” Bond said.

Q grinned, knowing full well that his private information was, in fact, redacted, as part of his terms for joining MI6. “I suppose ‘Sir’ wouldn’t work?”

“Not as such,” Bond said. “I’d like something more personal that I can say out loud to think of you in a more compromising position.” 

“Are you telling me that you want my name merely so that you can say it while wanking?” Q asked, holding back a laugh, though his own thoughts strayed to Bond’s own hand. 

“Yes, exactly,” Bond said. “I think it only fair, since you left me so unsatisfied.” 

“Unsatisfied?” Q asked, pushing his computer away, picking up the phone to bring it closer to his mouth. “It will take more than tapas to get between my legs, Bond. I find myself appalled, really,” Q joked as he curled up on the sofa, resting his head against the cushion. “Tell me, what would you have had me do? A wank in your Aston Martin on the street side? Sex in a car is so-- trying,” Q said with a huff. 

“I find it thrilling. I’d have brought you back here tonight.” 

“Tomorrow isn’t far away, you know,” Q said. “And besides, I quite like the thought of you having to wait.” Bond grunted his dislike. “Are you touching yourself now, James?” Q asked, biting his bottom lip. Bond didn’t respond, at first, though his breathing staggered. “James.” 

“You never call me that, you know,” Bond said, his breath hitching. “I quite like it.”

Q covered his face with his hand, because Bond was, in fact, masturbating. He’d called Q seeking phone sex. Q found that Bond’s voice had quite an effect on him as he adjusted himself in his pyjama bottoms. 

“James, you didn’t discuss this prior,” Q scolded as he let out a sigh, his head tilting back as he stroked himself through the thin fabric of his pyjamas. Bond groaned over the receiver as Q swallowed back his own moan. His hand found its way beneath the elastic, fingers scraping against the hair leading down to his half hard erection. “Tell me what you would do with my name, if I gave it.” 

Bond hummed, breathing into the receiver. 

“I’d whisper it in your ear before kissing you, marking your neck,” Bond said as Q wrapped his hand around his own cock, stroking it. “I’d say it over and over as you blew me, tugging on that head of hair of yours. I’d come with your name on my lips, if you gave it to me.”

Q practically purred, humming out his moan as he played with the head of his cock, rocking his hips into his fist. Q laughed at himself, so strung out over such a thing as giving someone his name. His stomach tightened as he listened to Bond, could hear the slick, distinct sound of him jacking off. Q whimpered, his mouth falling open as he came, effectively staining his pyjama bottoms. By the choked off moan Bond let out, he’d just done the same. 

Q sighed, running his free, clean hand through his hair. 

“Are you there, Bond?” Q asked, standing up to go clean himself off. He hadn’t had phone sex in years, and felt rather juvenile, but Bond’s laughter quelled the embarrassment. 

“Yes, I’m here. Still waiting on that name, though.”

Q stepped out of his pyjamas in the bathroom, wetting a cloth to clean himself up and wash his hands, putting the phone down beside him. His brain was a bit fuzzy, as it usually was after coming, endorphins running through his body making him feel a bit light-headed. 

“Alastair,” he said, looking himself in the mirror. “My name is Alastair.” 

“You look like a Alastair,” Bond mused. 

“Thank you,” Q said, tugging at his hair as he smiled, looking himself over in the mirror, his cheeks flushed, cock spent and limp as it hung between his legs. “I’ll see you tomorrow, James?” 

“Until tomorrow, Alastair.”

Q couldn’t help but smile as he hung up his phone, adjusting his glasses minutely. He may end up regretting getting involved with Bond, but for now, he’d enjoy it. 


	4. Chapter 4

004 was in Prague, and Q hadn’t gotten off the comm in over twelve hours. He had a headache, was starving, and had to use the loo. Bond had stopped by Q-Branch at some point, but was turned away before he got within ten feet of Q.

Q stood at his work station, his eyes closed momentarily as 004 was under fire. His tea, long since forgotten, was chilled beside him, and all he’d eaten that day was a bit of granola. 

Nearby were Tanner and Eve, along with a few technicians who were charged with 004’s mission. Q hadn’t taken over until that morning when everything went to hell. 

“I’ve been shot,” 004 said, sounding annoyed.

Q opened his eyes, protocol setting in. “Can you stop the bleeding?” he asked, his voice void of the fear he felt creeping up his spine. He heard the rip of fabric as 004 took care of it. “Where is the wound?” 

“Arm, just nicked me, I don’t think--” 004 hissed. “No, it’s definitely still in there.” 

“Stop the bleeding and get out of there,” Q said. “The lead is a dead end, retreat.” Q looked to Tanner, daring him to say otherwise. 

“We’ll send backup straight away. Set up a flight for 007,” Tanner said, looking down at his tablet. Q’s jaw tightened as he bit back any sort of retort. 

“004, we are sending 007 in. Have you---”

More gun shots, yelling. Q drowned them out as he searched flights, the next one out, as Eve called Bond. Within minutes Bond was in Q-Branch, being brought up to speed. Q remained on the comm as Tanner explained the mission, giving him the confirmation of the flight and hotel. Q barely glanced at Bond before he was gone. 

So much for their scene. 

-

004 was relieved hours later, with Bond patching him up before sending him back to England. A second and third wind of energy hit him as Bond went in, armed and ready. Q switched to coffee, and food was brought in. At the twenty-four hour mark, he was sent somewhere quiet to nap, but found that he couldn’t. 

Within twenty minutes, he was back on the floor, taking the comm from one of his technicians. 

“007, report,” Q said as he poured himself another cup of coffee. 

“In a moment,” Bond said. All Q could hear was him breathing, the wait dragging on for minutes. “Sending pictures through now,” Bond said in a whisper. Q saw them appear before him on the giant screen, dead bodies, facial recognition telling Q that they were the terrorist group 004 had been seeking out, only they were already dead. “Something doesn’t seem right,” Bond said. 

“No,” Q said, shaking his head as he crossed his arms. He was too tired, wrung out, to think properly. “Get out of there, 007.” 

“Not yet,” Bond said. 

“That’s an order,” Q said, his voice harsher than he’d intended it to be. He waited through the silence for Bond to respond, and it took him a moment to realise that he’d taken the earpiece out. “Damn him,” Q said, finally sitting down, covering his face with his hands as he rubbed at his eyes. “He’s impossible.” 

“He’ll resurface,” Eve said. 

“He’ll get himself killed,” Q bit back, then groaned. “With them dead, there is no need to remain-- it was a reconnaissance mission only, how did it turn into an agent causality and all of them dead?” 

“Bond will find out,” Tanner said, sighing. “He always does.” 

-

Bond didn’t resurface until two days later, when he asked the technician on duty for an retrieval for himself and a captive he’d secured. A helicopter lift had picked them up, and Q wasn’t alerted until he’d come in from a full twenty-four hours off, for which he’d passed out for most of it. Bond was about to touch down on English soil when he came in. 

“Why didn’t anyone tell me?” Q asked Emma, one of his technicians. 

“Moneypenny said not to,” Emma said. “The helicopter just landed--” 

Q didn’t wait before he walked out of Q-Branch, towards the helicopter pad. He met up with Moneypenny and Tanner, along with a number of guards who would secure the prisoner. Medical waited, as well, for 007 to emerge. Q held in his fury when he saw that Bond had a sling over one shoulder, shrugged away from the medical staff as they tried to get him to sit on a stretcher. 

“Stubborn, that one,” Eve said with a sigh. Q tried to smile, but found it difficult. As Bond passed him by, their eyes locked together. Bond had the audacity to wink at him, as if proud of himself. Q’s fists clenched. He had a mind to follow, but it would be out of character for him. Hell, even meeting a double-oh on the launch pad wasn’t something he’d normally do. If Eve noticed the change, she didn’t say anything as Tanner led them towards a private meeting room. They’d already had the debrief with 004 the day before, but Q wasn’t sure he’d be able to sit through another one. 

Instead of going back to Q-Branch, Q went with Tanner and Eve. The three of them met with M, who had the case files in front of him. It would be a long, tiresome day. 

-  
Q had a tension headache. He sat at his desk, a rare thing, staring off at the wall as he tried to will it away. His specs were off, discarded, with a half finished cup of tea beside them. 

“Sir,” an assistant said, bringing Q’s attention to back to reality. Q sat up straighter, gathering his specs up, running his fingers through his hair before he stood, clearing his throat. 

“Yes?” He asked, the painful throbbing in his head refusing to subside. 

“M would like to see you, Moneypenny’s just called.” 

“Of course,” Q said, gathering his things, his tablet and pen, after taking one last sip of his tea. Not one word from Bond, which wasn’t unusual if under normal circumstances. Q didn’t have day-to-day contact with any of the double-ohs, and his thoughts were irrational at best. Normally after a mission, double-ohs had time to recover, but Bond had jumped from one straight into another and now was wounded. The mission itself had been sloppy, hastily put together, and the mere fact that not only had 004 been shot, but 007 was injured as well didn’t bode well at all. 

Q-Branch was under fire, because there was always a scapegoat. As head of Q-Branch, Q had to go into the meeting with his head held high. He wouldn’t go in with his proverbial tail between his legs, not when the mission was doomed to begin with. 

What he wasn’t expecting was to find Bond in the office along with Mallory; for once Tanner was absent. 

“Take a seat, Q,” Mallory said not unkindly. Q sat, his legs crossed with his tablet resting in his lap, ready. He wanted to fiddle with his electronic pen, but restrained himself. 

“It’s understood that you’ve reached your limit,” M said, his fingers steepled together with his elbows resting on the desk before him. 

Q’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t agree,” he said, his voice stiff, eyes casting a glance at Bond. He sat up straighter, touching his specs. “I find the accusation deplorable--”

“This isn’t an attack,” Mallory said. “I’m merely stating that you’re human, Q, though you certainly act as though you aren’t.” Q tensed. “Being on the clock for seventy-two hours straight while not in the field, I don’t approve of it.”

“Pardon, M, but why is 007 present for this?” Q asked, his voice dangerous.

“007 brought it to my attention, your technicians certainly didn’t.”

Q glared at Bond openly.

“Don’t take it out on him, Q. Tanner’s mentioned it as well, We all work our fill, but we all have a breaking point and we don’t want you broken, simple as that. You’re an asset, and I feel as though I’ve neglected you.” 

“I don’t need coddling, Sir,” Q said, his grip tight on his tablet. Bond was uncharacteristically silent throughout the ordeal, and Q found it quite off putting. 

“No one said you did,” Bond said, finally speaking up. “Have you looked at yourself in a mirror lately?” 

“That’s hardly--”

“What Bond means, is that if you don’t start delegating, I’ll be forced to make you take a leave of absence for your own benefit.” 

“I’ve been delegating--” Q bit his lip, holding back. “I’ll be sure to monitor my hours more precisely, Sir.” 

“That’s all I’m asking. You’re not a field agent, Q, we aren’t asking you to be one. Immersion is saved for the field operatives. We need you at your best.” 

“Understood,” Q said. “Is that all, Sir?” 

“You’re dismissed, Q,” M said. Q stood up, as did Bond. As soon as they were out the door and out of earshot of Moneypenny, Q hissed out his displeasure. 

“Do not speak.” 

“Q--”

“You went above me, 007,” Q said. “I’ve a mind to never give you so much as a radio on your next mission.” 

“You wouldn’t dare,” Bond said. “And you look like absolute arse, Q. It’s dangerous not only for me, but for you as well. You’ve a headache, I can see it in your eyes. Sleep deprivation isn’t healthy.” 

“Don’t--” Q said, pinching his nose, his tablet held close to his chest with his other hand. “Don’t do this.” 

“Do what?” Bond asked. 

“If you think coddling is a sign of flirtation, of flattery for me, you’re deeply mistaken,” Q said, stepping closer so his voice wouldn’t carry down the hallway. They were mere centimetres from each other. Q swallowed, looking away from him as he licked his lips. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to schedule my technicians in a way to make sure I don’t leave Q-Branch defenseless while I take some time off.” 

“That’s what R is for,” Bond said. “And they can’t be so incompetent that they need a nanny all the time.” Q glared at him again, his jaw tight. “Let go of the reins a little, Q. You don’t need to be in control all of the time.” 

Q knew they weren’t talking about work, not entirely, but he wasn’t in the mood. 

“Raincheck on that dinner, Bond,” Q said before James even brought it up. “As I’m not in the right frame of mind for it.” 

“Certainly,” Bond said, catching Q’s eyes with his own. “I didn’t mean to overstep.” Q looked away, unable to hold the gaze. “004 getting shot wasn’t your fault.” 

“That’s quite enough, 007,” Q said. He stepped away from him, before his headache got the better of him and he said something he’d regret. 

-

It was half past seven, and he was about to leave the office, when Bond showed up as if asking for a verbal lashing. Q ignored him as he hovered nearby the door. He didn’t go unnoticed by the technicians, but Q simply didn’t give a damn. After stopping by medical for over-the-counter pain pills for his headache, he’d taken a nap as well to help combat it. 

“You’re like a vulture,” Q said as he gathered his things. Bond grinned, opening the door leading into the hallway for him. “Hovering over me as you wait to pick at my dead carcass.”

“That’s certainly a mental picture,” Bond said easily.

Q huffed, finally giving Bond a once over. “What happened to your sling?”

“Shoulder was dislocated, all better now.” 

“If by better you mean bruised and sore, then surely,” Q said as they got into the lift. Once they were alone, Bond moved in for a kiss, but Q evaded, turning his head to the side. 

“One, there are cameras, 007,” Q said plainly. “Two, what makes you think you deserve it?” 

“Don’t make me beg,” Bond said with a feral grin, practically asking for it. Q found him deplorable, simply irresistibly so. It was irritating. 

“You’re a menace,” Q said, watching the tracker as they approached the ground floor. 

“I haven’t been able to think of anything else, you know.”

Q hummed, recalling their phone call. “Alastair,” Bond said, leaning in, his breath hot against Q’s ear. Q shivered, his eyes closing. He knew he shouldn’t have given Bond his name. 

“I told you, I’m not in the right mindset,” Q said, catching Bond’s eye. He looked, then, at Bond’s lips. 

“Not everything has to be a scene, or has to be planned out so meticulously,” Bond whispered, wetting his lips. “Let me--”

The door opened to the ground floor and Q stepped off, breaking the moment. He could give in, he could let go. But he fought the thought as much as he could, at the moment. 

Q walked out towards the tube, knowing full well that Bond followed behind. It wasn’t until they were through the turnstiles that Bond grabbed hold of his arm. Q stared at it, his lips tight. 

“I can’t read you, Q,” Bond admitted. Triumphant, the corning of Q’s mouth twitched upwards. “Tell me if you’re leading me on, tell me if there’s something to seek out here.” 

“I’ll ask you the same thing I did at dinner: what is it, exactly, that you want from me?” Q asked. “Do you want a quick shag, a scene and be done with me? I’m not so naive, Bond, to know what happens to the people you sleep with. I’m not a plaything.” 

“I know you aren’t,” Bond said, his eyes searching desperately, consuming Q. “I could have anyone I want, but I’m following you, Q. I’m here, can’t that be enough?” Bond reached out, his hand cupping Q’s face. Q leaned into it, his eyes closing. A train approached, and Q had to make his decision. 

“Alright,” he said, his eyes opening. “I’ll bend to you, Bond.” Q took Bond’s tie in hand, letting it slide through his fingers as he reached the knot, tugging it close so that their lips almost met. “But I was serious about you having to be patient if you want me to be pliable, to give in to you.” 

“Lead the way,” Bond said. Q kissed him, then, taking control of the kiss readily before pulling away, walking onto the train. Bond followed. 

-

 

Q held his breath as he unlocked his flat, leading Bond inside. He shrugged off his coat, wanting nothing more than to either fall into the sofa with Bond trailing after him or making straight for the bedroom. 

“Tea?” Q asked instead, his voice steady as ever. 

“Not for me, but go right ahead,” Bond said, looking around the flat. Q wasn’t self-conscious about his space, because it was his own. Bond was the first person from MI-6 he’d brought over, with Tanner merely dropping him off at the doorstep more than once. Q watched as James slipped off his own jacket, carefully undoing his cufflinks, keeping them safe in his pocket. Bond rolled up his shirtsleeves, but left his tie as it was, pulled up tight against his neck. Q loosened his own, vying for time. 

“You’re thinking awfully hard,” Bond said as Q poured water from the kettle, setting the tea to steep. 

“I wasn’t prepared for a scene,” Q said, glancing at Bond. “I’m not one for spontaneity.” 

“I’d gathered as much, but sometimes it’s best to live in the moment.” Bond walked forward, linking a finger through one of Q’s belt loops to pull him close. “We can do a scene together later,” Bond said, his lips hovering close to Q’s. “Right now I just want to feel you.” 

“Alright,” Q said, just as Bond captured his lips with his own. Q’s hand went to the back of Bond’s neck, keeping him close as the kiss deepened. With the tea forgotten, Q walked Bond over to the sofa, where he pushed him into a sitting position. Bond tugged on Q’s tie, bringing him down with him. Q ended up straddling Bond’s lap, knees tucked up against the sofa cushions.

Bond’s fingers were in his hair as their tongues explored their mouths, Q’s fingers unbuttoning Bond’s shirt. Bond yanked on Q’s hair, hard enough to make him moan, his hips rolling against Bond’s as he exposed his neck. Bond licked upwards, teeth raking across his tender flesh. Q sought out Bond’s mouth once more, sucking on his bottom lip as he thrust his hips, letting himself give in to the feel of Bond’s hands on him, untucking his shirt, pushing his cardigan down his arms. 

Q panted for breath when they broke the kiss, both of them scrambling to undress the other, stopping to kiss as shirts were tossed aside, ties thrown. Q’s fingers brushed across marred skin as Bond sucked at Q’s collarbone. He groaned, his hand gliding down Bond’s stomach, cupping his erection in his hand and rubbing against the fabric of his trousers. Q put his finger beneath Bond’s chin, lifting his head so that they were eye to eye. 

“I don’t condone your behaviour,” Q said as he licked his own lips. Bond’s gaze fell, his pupils blown as his hands rubbed up and down Q’s thighs as if holding back. “It shouldn’t be praised by giving you exactly what you want.” 

“Why deny yourself what you want because of a little indiscretion?” Bond asked, his hands trailing up Q’s hips, thumbs brushing across Q’s groin, outlining his erection. Q’s eyes narrowed as Bond grinned. “Punishment later.” 

“You’re the masochist, aren’t you. Wanting it,” Q said as he held onto Bond’s erection, refusing to move as Bond’s hips sought out friction. “You want to be punished.” 

“Deservedly, as you said,” Bond said, leaning forward, his nose ghosting across Q’s chin, his eyes closed as he breathed in. “I want to devour you,” Bond said, his hands coming around and gripping Q’s arse. Q grunted, his head falling forward, resting on Bond’s shoulder as they both rubbed off against each other, trousers separating them. “If you’ll let me.” Q turned his head, nipping at Bond’s earlobe. His hair was too short to grip, so Q’s hand tightened around the back of Bond’s neck. 

“I’ve half a mind to make you watch as I touch myself, not allowing you so much as a taste.” 

Bond groaned, seeking out Q’s mouth. Q allowed the kiss before rolling off of him, standing before him, hands on his belt. 

“Please,” Bond said, hands on his own thighs, outlining how into it he really was. Q pulled his belt from the loops of his trousers, thinking about Bond’s mouth on him. 

He dropped the belt, stepping forward once more. Bond’s hands came up, bringing Q close by hooking his hands around his thighs, burying his face against Q’s stomach. Q ran his fingers through Bond’s hair as Bond mouthed along his erection, face nuzzling against him. Q unzipped his trousers in permission as Bond looked up at him with heavy lidded eyes. Bond pushed the trousers out of the way, sucking at the head of Q’s cock hungrily. Q moaned as he brought a leg up, pressing a foot gently against Bond’s groin as he took Q into his mouth, moaning as he swallowed him down to the hilt. 

Q gasped at the feel of his cock hitting the back of Bond’s throat before Bond pulled back messily. 

“That’s it,” Q said, encouraging him to do it again. Bond’s mouth truly was worth the hype, as it were. He didn’t think about who else had been in his position, but rather about the fact that Bond knew exactly what he was doing, and Q couldn’t control himself as Bond pulled him even closer, maneuvering them both so that suddenly Q was pinned against the sofa with his hands above his head. He strained against Bond’s hold on his wrists, but was unable to budge. 

“This isn’t what I had in mind,” Q said, his chest heaving as Bond undid his own trousers, pushing them down his thighs so that he could slide his cock alongside Q’s. Q moved his hips, moaning as Bond put all of his weight atop him. “Are we to come between ourselves, then? Get off like ruddy teenagers?” 

“If you want,” Bond said, mouthing across Q’s collarbone, teasing at a nipple. Q’s back arched as he hooked his foot around Bond’s leg, pushing up with his knee in order to get distance between them. 

“Desist,” Q said, catching his breath. Bond let go of him, allowing him to sit up. Q ran his fingers through his own hair, adjusting his specs just so, before straddling Bond once more. It was he who wrapped his hand around both of their erections stroking them together as Bond held onto him, grasping at his thigh and his arse as they both fucked up into his fist. Bond’s teeth raked across Q’s shoulder, breathing heavily against his skin as Bond thrust against him, rutting and gasping for breath. It was messy, not at all dignified or planned. Q whimpered as he felt his stomach tighten, his climax draw nearer. His toes curled as Bond pressed a finger between his arse cheeks, his mouth falling open as he came. 

Bond sucked at his nipple, teeth catching on it as he continued moving against Q, his own climax building. Q let go of himself, his attention solely on wringing out each ounce of Bond’s come as he came, his thumb rubbing against the head, stimulating it. Bond gave a shout that was almost a laugh as found Q’s open mouth, biting his lip as he came. Their movements slowed, though Bond’s hand between Q’s cheeks remained, slowly massaging around him. Q moaned, the feel of their come between them sticky, drying as even their kisses became sparse. 

It was then, after the haze of coming, that Q felt any sign of remorse for giving in to his desires. He climbed off of Bond, righting himself as he went for a cloth to wipe off with. James Bond, debonaire and a provocateur, had gotten his way. He’d gotten exactly what he wanted from Q. 

Lost in his own thoughts, Q was surprised when Bond joined him in the bathroom, wrapping his arms around him, kissing his shoulder gently. 

“Let’s order takeaway,” Bond said. “I’m starving.”

Q looked at him in the mirror, at the way Bond mouthed at him still, his arms wrapped around him so protectively. 

Perhaps it wasn’t all for nought.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> only one more chapter left! to be posted on Sunday! thanks for reading x.

Q believed in total immersion while he was working. He didn’t like to be disturbed even though that was practically part of his job description as head of Q-Branch. He found ways around that, though. He’d started wearing headphones, giant ones that covered his ears completely. He rarely actually listened to anything, but it dampened the noise around him enough that he could completely block out the white noise and have a sort of tunnel vision as he coded. 

So when someone put a hand on his shoulder to grab his attention, he jumped, body reacting to the sudden stimuli, eyes wide and confused. 007, of course, looked amused. 

“I called your name three times,” he offered in no way of an apology. Q took off the headphones, looking around the branch. His technicians weren’t paying attention to them, instead focused on their work, as they should be.

“Do you need something, 007?” Q asked, his voice quiet, reserved as ever. Bond stepped closer, encroaching on Q’s personal space. Q didn’t move, allowing Bond to brush against him as he put his hands in his pockets. It had been over two weeks since their date, their hook-up as it were, and Q had waited patiently. Instead of answering, Bond fiddled with the things on Q’s work station, simply budging them but not actually messing with anything. 

“Was it so bad?” Bond asked. “Did I disappoint you so thoroughly that you decided that I wasn’t worth your time?” Bond enquired, his breath hot against Q’s neck. Q closed his eyes, taking a few breaths before he opened them, his eyes scanning the room once more. “They aren’t paying us the least bit of attention,” Bond said bluntly, turning Q’s tea around, half finished and forgotten. 

Q gave Bond a sideways glance, his face blank. “I wouldn’t say I was dissatisfied,” Q said while raising an eyebrow. “I’m patient, 007,” Q said, looking Bond in the eye. “I wanted to see if you would come to me.” Bond’s eyes narrowed at him, his shoulders slumping, like he was disappointed in himself for not seeking out Q sooner. It only lasted a moment before he recovered. “You said you wanted a challenge.” 

“I didn’t realize the parameters,” Bond said, looking around the room, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Tell me, Q, if I asked nicely, would tonight give you sufficient time to plan a scene?” 

“Since you asked so nicely,” Q said, letting out a faux sigh. “I will strive to think of something.” 

“Thank you,” Bond said, setting the teacup back exactly how it had been before he’d disturbed it. Without another word, Bond left, leaving Q to his work. Though, he found, he was considerably more distracted than he had been prior to being interrupted, even forgetting to return his headphones. 

-

Wearing comfortable trousers, a soft long-sleeved shirt, and barefoot, Q answered the door. Bond was early, by three minutes, and was decidedly also dressed down in a pair of khakis and a shirt. He brought wine, offering it to Q with a flourish. Q smiled, taking it and kissing Bond softly on the lips in thanks. 

“I got it last time I was in Italy,” Bond said as he stepped into the flat. Q examined it. “It’s a good year.” 

“Perhaps we can share it afterwards,” Q said, giving Bond a look. 

“Good idea,” Bond said, giving him a charming smile. 

“Before we start, I’d like to discuss limits,” Q said as he walked forward, standing eye to eye with Bond. “Without evasion. Full disclosure, James.” For the first time, Q noticed James’ twitch at the use of his first name. “Would you rather me call you something else?” 

“No, James is fine,” Bond said. “Full disclosure, within certain parameters.” 

“This isn’t an interrogation,” Q said, looking him over. “You’re tense, loosen up,” Q said, his hands on Bond’s biceps, shaking his arms a bit. Bond cracked his neck, swaying back and forth. “Better. Your limits, please.” 

“No scars, I’ve enough of them to last a lifetime,” Bond stated without emotion. 

“Should I avoid bondage?” Q asked. He didn’t want to mention the amount of times Bond had been captured and tortured; he wasn’t sure how removed Bond was to it. 

“I’m very adept at staying still,” Bond said, evading. Q took a step back. 

“Don’t be contrary,” Q said. “We won’t get anywhere if you don’t do as I ask.” 

“Though you looked exquisite bound, I would prefer not to be,” Bond said. 

“See,” Q said, relaxing. “That wasn’t so hard, was it? What else.” 

“No cock and ball torture,” Bond said, not looking Q in the eye. “Bad memories, there.” 

“I’ll avoid it,” Q said softly.

“I think that’s it,” Bond said as Q stepped forward once more, kissing him lightly on the lips. 

“On your knees, then,” Q said, hands on Bond’s shoulders. Bond dropped before him, looking up at Q expectantly. Bond wasn’t a submissive, Q reminded himself. He was like Q, a switch, who usually held the reigns. He’d push Q at each step of the way, seeking punishment and relishing in it. “Stay here, please.”

Q walked into his bedroom to put away some of the gear he’d prepared for the evening. No bondage, no cock and ball torture. Bond waited patiently as Q rearranged, pulling out a few different things. 

“Alright, James,” Q called out. Within moments, Bond appeared in the doorway of the bedroom. “Strip down and make yourself comfortable,” Q said, watching as Bond followed his directions without a word, though he looked at Q the whole time, not breaking eye contact. Q appraised Bond’s body openly, the definition of his muscles, the scars that stood out against his flesh, his arse as he got in the bed. “Hands on the headboard,” Q said tilting his head as he continued watching. Bond was half hard, his neck craned so he could still see. That would change, though. Q showed a blindfold that was clenched in his hands, raising an eyebrow before stepping forward. 

“Safeword?” 

“Traffic lights work best,” Bond said. “Green, yellow, red-- that’s the system I prefer.” 

“We’ll use that, then,” Q said, kneeling on the bed, putting the blindfold on him. “Colour?” Q asked. 

“Green,” Bond said, his grip on the headboard tightening. Q got off the bed, grabbing everything he need and placing it on the bed beside Bond, within reach. He then stripped down to his pants, boxer briefs that clung to him, and straddled Bond’s thighs. Q trailed his fingertips over Bond’s body, taking his time. He’d already prepared for one thing he’d wanted to do, and that was temperature play. He leaned over to the nightstand, where a small ice box was. He took out a piece of ice, dragging it over a nipple. 

“Christ,” Bond hissed unexpectedly. Q bent over, his mouth soothing over it, warmth covering the biting color. Bond rocked his hips against Q, but otherwise didn’t move. “Fuck, Alastair.” Q smirked at the usage of his real name, but otherwise didn’t react. He trailed the ice over Bond’s other nipple, this time following it with a bite before he sucked. “I might break your headboard,” Bond said with a laugh. 

“Strive not to,” Q said, nipping along Bond’s jawline as he scooted down to Bond’s thighs, fingers raking down Bond’s chest, his blunt nails digging, leaving red streaks down his skin. The ice had Bond shaking, his cock leaking precome. Q watched, licking his lips as he slid the ice down Bond’s thighs, water dripping down as Q’s mouth hovered over his cock. Instead of licking, Q touched ice to his length. 

“Fuck,” Bond gasped, his toes curling. 

“Colour?” Q asked before doing it again. 

“Green, Q, fuck,” Bond said. Q pressed the ice against the underside of his cock, then covered Bond’s cock with his mouth, sucking at it along with the ice. Bond whimpered beneath him, struggling not to move. Panting, Bond’s cock twitched in his mouth, the taste of precome apparent as Q pulled off. 

With the ice practically melted, Q threw it onto a nearby towel, grabbing a feather as he abandoned Bond’s cock, making him groan. He scratched his nails down Bond’s chest again, following it with the feather. Bond reacted, his body shifting as Q dragged it down his side. He tried to get away from it, but with Q on top of him, he didn’t budge. Q brought it upwards, leading it over Bond’s armpit and back down the other. Bending over, Q breathed him in, mouthing at his underarms, hands kneading into the muscles of Bond’s torso, allowing himself to move against him, to give in to the feeling of Bond beneath him. Bond moaned, arms stiff as if trying not to move with every fiber of his being. 

“You’re doing so well,” Q said into Bond’s ear before kissing him on the lips, capturing Bond’s bottom lip with his teeth as he pulled away. Next, Q grabbed the pinwheel, letting it roll delicately across Bond’s chest. Bond thrashed beneath him, his hands almost letting go of the headboard, his groan guttural. 

“Fuck, fuck,” Bond said as Q pushed the pinwheel up Bond’s neck, barely ghosting over his skin. If he pressed harder, he’d leave a mark. “I’m going to come.”

“No,” Q said in Bond’s ear, his hand wrapping around Bond’s cock at the base, squeezing. Bond moaned at the touch, at the denial. “Not yet.” Q got off of him, laying beside him as he played with the pinwheel, watching Bond squirm as he brushed it over his nipples. Q nuzzled against Bond’s underarm, teeth scraping across his skin as he discarded the pinwheel, raking his fingers across Bond’s taught stomach, avoiding touching his cock altogether as it dripped precome. Q bit, hard enough to leave teeth marks, just above Bond’s nipple, sucking at it afterwards. 

All the while, Bond’s erection didn’t flag, sweat covered his body as he panted, his mouth hanging open. Q pressed his body against Bond’s, lips pressing against Bond’s jaw as he allowed his own erection to press against Bond’s thigh. 

“I’m going to take the blindfold off, and I want you to come by looking at me,” Q said nonchalantly, his fingers slowly trailing up Bond’s body. “Do you think you could do that for me?” He asked. 

“Quite capably,” Bond said, his voice shaking. Q smiled, giving Bond’s cock a few strokes before taking the blindfold off. Bond’s pupils were blown as he looked Q over. Q straddled him once more, though remained on his knees over him, looking down as he hooked his fingers in the elastic of his pants, tugging them down. They were precome soaked, the effect of the scene not lost on him, but the look on Bond’s face as he watched Q expose himself was filthy. Q teased himself, rubbing his palm over his cockhead as he pushed his pants down his thighs. Bond shook beneath him as Q stroked himself, moaning with each thrust as he fucked his own hand. Bond moaned, coming as he watched, making a mess of his stomach. 

Panting heavily, Q’s orgasm hit him, spilling onto Bond’s stomach. He grinned as Bond lay pliant beneath him, his hands still on the headboard. Q leaned forward, kissing Bond chastely as he gathered his breath. 

“Good,” Q said. “You did so good for me.” 

Q stroked Bond’s cheek, unsurprised to find Bond turning his head to nip at his fingers, his pupils still blown from his orgasm. “You can get up, now,” Q said as he got off of Bond, righting himself as he walked towards the bathroom, grabbing a wet cloth to clean up with. Bond barely moved, merely pushing himself up by his elbows as Q approached. Q leaned over, his mouth hovering over Bond’s as he trailed the warm cloth across Bond’s abdomen, cleaning him up. It was Bond who pushed upwards, his lips pressing against Q’s in an open-mouthed moan as Q’s tongue teased. Bond reached out for him, his hand wrapping around Q’s wrist, tugging him to sit. Q didn’t fight it, sitting on the edge of the bed as they continued to kiss. 

Q moaned as Bond’s hand slid up his arm, resting on the back of Q’s neck, pulling him even closer. Q placed his other hand on Bond’s chest, smoothing his thumb over his nipples. When the kiss ended, Bond buried his nose in Q’s hair, breathing him in. The silence wasn’t deafening or stagnant between them, but held a certain weight in Q’s mind. 

“Let me get you water,” Q said, eventually. Bond sighed, releasing his hold on Q so he could get up. He didn’t think Bond would be a tactile person, when it came to aftercare, being a double-oh, but perhaps he was wrong. 

He fetched water for the two of them, returning to the bed in quick order. Bond sat up, downing the water without a problem as Q tentatively touched his thigh, his fingers scratching lightly. Bond covered his hand over Q’s, guiding him up his thigh, towards his chest. Q forgot about his own glass of water as Bond lead Q’s hand to his neck, where he left it to mirror it with his own hand, pulling Q closer, his fingers digging into the thickness of Q’s hair, tugging on it to reveal his neck. Bond’s mouth on him made him shiver, eyes closing as he let the sensation take over him. His hands trailed carefully down Bond’s arms and back, caressing him, allowing him to mark Q’s neck and collarbone. 

Bond sought out closeness, as if he craved it above all else, after their scene. Q wouldn’t deny him that, if that was what he needed after being denied being able to touch Q. They were no longer in the scene, and the rules of it no longer applied. 

When they kissed again, Bond sucked on Q’s bottom lip, their mouths sliding together, deepening as moments passed.

“Thank you,” Bond said, his breath hot against Q’s mouth as he held onto Q’s face, his hands cupping it as he looked him in the eyes. Q blinked as Bond kissed him again, his thumbs brushing over Q’s cheek bones. “That was exactly what I needed.” 

Stunned, Q watched Bond dress himself, leaving him on the bed immobile. Bond looked at him, giving him a smile before disappearing out the door. When the door shut behind him, Q touched his fingers to his lips, feeling how swollen they were, reddened by their kissing. He cleared his throat, dropping his hand to his lap before standing up to tidy the room.

Apparently there was only so much cuddling Bond could endure; he wasn’t one to stick around. 

-

Q-Branch was normally quite chilly, but of course the day that Q wore a high-necked jumper because he had a line of marks up and down his neck, the building had to run hot. It meant that he was in a mood, what with being uncomfortable with the heat, the fact that he was almost too hot to enjoy his tea, and a three hour meeting where he had to pay attention -- he wasn’t amused. 

As Quartermaster, he had an unbearable number of meetings to attend, on top of paperwork, most of which he could delegate, but not everything was able to be passed off so easily. Q sipped at his cooling tea, his shirt sleeves pushed up as far up to his elbows as he could reasonably get them, while Tanner and Mallory went over a new process prior to missions that had to do with field agents and the amount of oversight Q-Branch would have when dealing with them. 

Q had already read the paperwork on it, already understood the changes, how he needed to train more technicians to be handlers for the field agents, to be at their beck and call during missions. A three hour meeting wasn’t necessary. Beside him Moneypenny transcribed the meeting on her tablet, looking as bored as Q felt, though outwardly it looked as though he were paying the utmost attention. 

Instead, his mind kept straying back to the night before, about how Bond had left him. At least he’d said ‘thank you’. After all, this was James Bond. What had Q actually expected from the night, besides having a go? Nothing. 

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t disappointed. He was disappointed in himself, for thinking that Bond wanted something more from him than a simple wank on the phone and one scene. He was disappointed because he’d hoped, above all else, that he wouldn’t be like the scores of others before him. Another notch on Bond’s bedpost. 

Before he knew it, his fists were clenched above the table, plain as day, and Moneypenny had stopped typing, glancing over at him. Q forced his hands to relax, picking up the tea as a distraction. 

Training handlers to be more adept, so that _he_ would not have to be the one on the comms, they told him. Apparently he was _too valuable_ and an asset, was needed in R &D to engineer more, to code. While it was true that Q loved the engineering aspect of his job, along with being one of the best coders in the world, he did enjoy the rush of helping the agents first hand. He also didn’t buckle under pressure, which was the hardest part in finding technicians capable enough to deal with the agents in the field. 

The double-ohs tended to go through technicians rather quickly. Q was one of the resilient ones, able to put up with them. He’d started as an assistant technician, barely out of college, snapped up by MI6 because of his promise. It wasn’t until the explosion that Q had been promoted in a rush, thrust into the position. Still, he’d settled into it well, taking whatever was thrown at him as long as he had his tea. 

Q sighed, pushing his specs up the bridge of his nose, where they’d slid down slightly. He held in a sigh as he went through the dossier of his assistants and technicians, trying in vain to find who he wanted to train properly for the positions. As Chief of Staff, Tanner had his own suggestions, but in the end it was up to Q, because he had more of a handle on their abilities. In the end, he narrowed it down to four people, hoping they wouldn’t disappoint him. 

-

Shadowing a technician on a mission, Q merely listened in as they led Bond through a training exercise. It was as realistic as possible, in no way a simulation, with bullet-proof vests and blank rounds, but Q jumped with each gunshot as 007 shot one of his colleagues. 

“Turn right at the next doorway,” his assistant said.

“There isn’t a right,” Bond grumbled. 

“There should be--”

“If you get me shot--”

Q bit his lip at Bond’s tone. The agent was obviously exasperated. To be fair, though, it was the first run through, and Samuel had been doing so well with the simulator that Q had made to train him for the position, but once they actually had to deal with Bond, all of the assistants had crumbled. 

“I meant left,” Samuel said, obviously embarrassed. Q watched from his workstation, his eyebrow lifted in silence, his jaw tight as he saw Bond’s sensor moving through the set up. He saw the ‘enemy’ approaching, Bond was about to be bombarded. They were supposed to be acting as if this were a real mission, and Samuel was walking Bond into a death trap. 

He couldn’t interfere, though; he was merely overseeing.

“Unlock the bloody door,” Bond said over the speaker. Q was in the middle of doing paperwork, but he’d all but abandoned it to watch Samuel struggle to unlock the encrypted door, which Q had programmed, while Bond was being snuck up on. 

Gunshots rang out as Bond fell to the ground, groaning. With eyes narrowed, Q took off his headset and discarded it, walking briskly down to the pretend control center. By the time he got down there, Bond was there as well, with his bulletproof vest still on. He looked as though he was about to rip Samuel a new one, but as he saw Q approach his ire landed on Q instead. 

“This is all your fault,” he said, pointing at Q. Q stopped as soon as the words left Bond’s mouth. Samuel sat there, his eyes wide as Bond strode over to Q, getting in his face. 

“I would have died if I was in the field,” Bond said. “Are you okay with that?”

“Of course not,” Q said without inflection. 

“Then how is it acceptable to give me a child as my handler?” Bond all but shouted. Q clenched his jaw, biting back his retort, letting Bond have his tantrum. 

“Are you quite finished?” Q asked after a tirade that lasted almost ten minutes. Bond had paced, spouting profanity after profanity. Samuel was almost in tears; it wasn’t pleasant. Q, though, took Bond’s diatribe without batting an eye. 

“Yes,” Bond said. “No, no, I don’t think so,” he answered almost immediately after. 

“This was a training exercise, 007,” Q said. “Noone is perfect, not even _you_. You weren’t always a double-oh, were you?” he asked. Bond stood before him, looking around the room where a number of Q’s assistants and technicians stood watching them. “Were you?” He pushed the question again.

“No,” Bond said, loud enough that everyone could hear. Q’s eye twitched as he licked his lips, taking a breath before continuing. 

“M and Tanner believe it to be a high priority of mine to find technicians who can handle being handlers. You were chosen to help train them, to ready them for the field. Yelling isn’t the way to accomplish that.” Q looked to Samuel, disregarding Bond all together. “Samuel, take ten minutes for yourself, then come find me,” Q said, finally returning his gaze to Bond. “007, a word.” 

Q then turned, without making sure that Bond followed him towards the office he rarely used, where they could finally have a word alone.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it :)
> 
> I can be found on tumblr @attoliancrown!

As soon as the door shut behind them, Bond had Q pinned against the door. If he weren’t so damned cross at him, he wouldn’t have pushed him off, but Q was irate. 

“Don’t touch me,” he said, pushing at Bond’s chest. He straightened himself, running his fingers through his hair as he gave Bond a once over. “I don’t know who you think you are, Bond, but I will not be your office fling, especially not after what you just pulled in front of my staff.” 

“You haven’t even spoken to me, not a word,” Bond said, adjusting his tie, avoiding Q’s eyes. 

“So you thought what? That acting out in my branch would catch my attention?” Q scoffed before reining in his emotions. “No, we will not discuss our personal lives right now. We will talk about what just happened.”

“Whatever you wish,” Bond said, his tone harsh. 

“You should be giving advice, Bond. Tell him what you need from him, what you expect.” 

“I expect him to be you,” Bond said, slipping his hands into his pockets. “He bloody well isn’t. He wasn’t paying attention to my back, let alone my front. I don’t trust easily, and M and Tanner should know that much, surely. I don’t want some wet, green, child holding the only lifeline I have out in the field.” 

 

It was as open and honest as Q had ever heard Bond, but he knew he had to remain impartial. 

“Be that as it may,” Q said, “I’ve been asked to train them, and so that’s what I have to do. You understand, don’t you? I can’t always be there for you.” 

“I don’t trust them,” Bond said pointedly, as if it meant something to Q to hear him say that. Q gave him a smile, despite himself. “I trust you with my life.” 

“Appreciated,” Q said, his voice calm as ever. “Reciprocated, 007,” he said, looking away as he cleared his throat. “But we must overcome hurdles, branch out. M wants me to be more hands on in R&D, and I have to agree with him. If you want shiny new toys to play with, then I’ve got to hand you and the other agents over to someone else. I’ll come in at crucial times, if I’m needed, but I digress... this is happening, Bond,” Q said, finally meeting his eyes. “Whether we want it to or not.” 

“You say if it’s crucial... what would you consider crucial during a mission?” Bond asked. 

“Now, now,” Q said, allowing amusement to seep into his voice. “Don’t go blowing up buildings to get my attention, 007.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Bond said, as he exited, leaving Q alone in his office. Bond always had to be the one to end a conversation, to be the one to leave. Q sat on the edge of his desk, his arms crossed, wondering if Bond was afraid of being the one left behind. 

He didn’t have time to ponder before Samuel came in to discuss the botched practise mission. Q had work to do, and couldn’t let his personal feelings on the matter get in the way. 

-

Q found himself at the club, as a voyeur, for the evening. He enjoyed watching the scenes, the demonstrations, and found it relaxing. He stood, watching a Shibari scene, for some time before he felt a presence, a tingling as if he were being watched instead of the attention being on the scene before them. Q turned his head minutely, his eyes glancing backwards, expecting Bond to be there. Instead, he found Richard, the man whom he’d done a scene with months prior. 

Disappointed in himself for expecting it to be Bond, Q sighed, turning his attention back to the Shibari scene. Shibari was beautiful to him, an art form, how rope was weaved and tied so specifically, being suspended in the air. He craved it for himself, but settled for watching, losing himself as he watched the person being tied up, imagining losing himself to the feel of the ropes. 

He was brought out of his trance by a touch on his elbow. Q flinched, glaring at the hand on him. Richard was beside him, grinning as if Q were a brand new toy for him to play with. Q wasn’t amused in the slightest, had been enjoying himself before being interrupted. He wasn’t at the club for a scene, to get off, or be touched at all. He wasn’t in the mood for that, and he couldn’t be what Richard wanted him to be. 

“Alvin,” Richard said, rolling Q’s fake name off his tongue. Q almost gagged at the way he said it. 

“Richard, a pleasure,” he said, shaking Richard’s hand. 

“I’d be delighted to get you alone,” Richard said. “I’d been hoping to run into you again.”

Q looked him up and down, not finding him at all appealing at the present. 

“I’m terribly sorry,” Q said bluntly. “But I’m not in the mood tonight.” 

“You were so good for me, before,” Richard coaxed. Q huffed in annoyance, looking back towards the wall, where he knew bouncers watched out for anything untoward. Richard followed his gaze. “Perhaps some other time, then.”

“Perhaps,” Q said, turning his attention back towards the demonstration, finding it difficult to get back into the scene. 

Eventually, Q gave up and made his way around, trying to find something else to catch his eye. There was a Saint Andrew’s Cross set up, with a gathering crowd, waiting for a scene to start. Q paused, waiting to see for himself what the scene would entail. Or, rather, he stopped until he saw Bond in the crowd, his own red bracelet standing out to Q. Red for dominant, not purple like Q’s, not blue for submissive. Q thought about Bond wanting him, about equal footing. He thought about them cuddling after their scene, of Bond’s tactileness, needing touch. 

He looked away, his mood shot. He knew he should leave, but didn’t move a step as he watched Bond step forward, towards the Saint Andrew’s Cross. It was his scene, apparently, that Q had been about to watch. Not sure if he should stay or not, Q swayed where he stood as he watched the submissive step forward, a male with a similar build to Q’s, though with blonde hair and fuller lips and a wide smile. Q found himself entranced as he watched Bond strap him in. 

Warmth spread throughout Q’s body as he watched the back of Bond’s hand trail delicately down his sub’s body, imagining himself in that position. Q tried to control his breathing, but found it difficult as he continued to watch, losing a bit of himself as Bond had his way with him. It felt like an outer body experience, in a way. Perhaps Q needed to get laid, or needed to do a scene more than he suspected. 

He took his leave, heading towards the loo to splash water on his face to clear his mind. He removed his specs, staring at himself in the mirror, his face dripping wet. 

“Bloody hell,” Q whispered to himself. The mere thought of being beneath Bond had him achingly hard, embarrassingly so. “Get a hold of yourself.” 

He dried off, returning his specs to their rightful position. When he emerged, he avoided Bond’s scene at all costs, finding instead a scene that made use of a paddle and nipple clamps. He barely paid attention, his mind still on Bond, but at least it was away from him and from Richard. He’d come to enjoy himself, and instead he felt trapped in his own mind, the exact opposite of how he wanted to feel. 

Q just about jumped out of his skin when someone spoke his name behind him, in his ear. It wasn’t Alvin that was spoken, either. 

“Alastair,” Bond said, his breath hot against Q’s ear. 

“James,” Q said, his eyes wide. “What are you doing?”

“I came to see how you were doing,” Bond stated plainly, as if that was obvious. 

“Your scene--”

“Over,” Bond said casually. 

“Aftercare,” Q hissed, his face dangerously close to Bond’s. 

“Taken care of, Alastair, honestly,” Bond said, moving to place a hand on Q’s bicep, but he didn’t touch. He found himself drawn to Bond’s touch, though, leaning into it as he sought it out. Bond relaxed against him as he pulled Q close. They were about the same height, almost exactly, but somehow Q felt small in his arms. It had been a rough week, what with everything happening in Q-Branch on top of the missions he was in the middle of overseeing. Q knew that he should be cross at Bond, push him away, but he was tired of it all. 

He wanted to be held, and not by just anyone. 

“Are you all right?” Bond asked, his voice decidedly soft in Q’s ear. Q physically straightened, remembering that they were, indeed, still in public and not in the privacy of one of their homes. He adjusted his specs needlessly as he nodded his head, not looking Bond in the eye. 

“We could get a room,” Bond suggested. Q glared at him, stepping away. “To talk, Q. Merely to talk.” 

“All right, then,” Q said, allowing Bond to take his hand, leading him over to the hostess. He let Bond do the talking, instead concentrating on the feel of Bond’s hand in his own, tight and commanding as Bond led him away. The room was small, decorated in nothing but a black leather sofa and dim overhead lighting. Q sat down where Bond guided him, cautiously watching as Bond sat down beside him, putting his arm across the back of the sofa. They were silent, Q wringing his hands together in his lap. He was a wreck, emotionally, and shouldn’t even be in the same room as Bond when he felt so vulnerable. He didn’t want to be taken advantage of, especially with their past and Bond’s tendency to walk away. 

“I’m sorry,” Bond said, breaking the silence. “Truly, Alastair. I didn’t-- I wasn’t thinking when I yelled in front of Q-Branch. I can be rather brash, sometimes.” 

Q laughed, covering his mouth with his hand as he turned towards Bond, the agent’s blue eyes piercing through Q’s emotional armour. 

“Quite brash, James,” Q said, biting his bottom lip as he finally leaned back against the sofa, Bond’s hand centimetres from his neck. “I’ve forgotten it, but I fear for poor Samuel.” 

“He’ll grow a thicker skin in time,” Bond said, his fingers sliding across Q’s neck, up his cheek. Q leaned into it, sighing as he closed his eyes, allowing himself to enjoy the feeling. “You’ve entranced me, you know.”

“I know,” Q whispered. “I wish I could figure you out.” 

“I’m an open book, Q, compared to you.”

Q opened his eyes to look into Bond’s. “You’re an enigma, and I can’t seem to get enough of you, despite my best efforts.” 

“Tell me then, James,” Q said, scooting closer, a hand resting on Bond’s thigh. “Why is it that you keep leaving?” 

“I thought it was obvious,” James murmured, their lips dangerously close. 

“Not as such,” Q said, holding back from diving in to capture a kiss. 

“If I didn’t leave, then I would simply stay. I’d allow myself too much indulgence,” Bond said, kissing Q on the lips before moving to his cheeks, his chin. “When I know I can’t keep you.”

Q shivered, his hand sliding higher on Bond’s thigh, his grip tightening as Bond nipped at his earlobe. “I left because if I didn’t, I’d do something I’d regret.” 

“Leaving hasn’t left you regretful?” Q kissed Bond on the lips, his tongue teasing. “Consider me bereft, James.”

“Oh, I regret it,” Bond said, his hands cupping Q’s face. “Wholeheartedly. But that doesn’t change the fact that I can’t, and won’t, be able to give myself fully to you.”

Q moaned as Bond kissed him again, this time deepening it, his mouth open and needy for it. 

“I want you beneath me, Q,” Bond said. “I want to show you how attentive I can be to your needs. But I can’t be more than that.” Bond’s breath was hot against Q’s skin as he spoke, with Q’s mouth hanging open, waiting. 

He had to decide if he wanted Bond for now, knowing later that he would ache for him, or if he would push him away. Bond was giving him that choice, now... only Q couldn’t think properly. 

“Yes,” Q said. “I’ll deal with the consequences, James.” 

“I hoped you’d say something along those lines,” Bond said, kissing him once more on the lips before pulling him up off the sofa, their fingers linked together once more. “Before we go, though, I want to have a word with that man who cornered you.” 

-

Q was on his knees, with a pillow between him and the hard wooden floor, cushioning him as he knelt with his hands bound behind his back. Not just tied at the wrist, but with thick corded rope, wrapped around his upper arms and knotted perfectly. His wrists were completely bound, wrapped seven or eight times with his hands near his elbows, his entire forearm covered. His breathing was heavy as he looked down at the ground before him, his mind fuzzy as Bond walked around him. Fingers through his hair snapped him back to the present as his head was lifted, Bond’s cock slid against his lips, his mouth open and willing. Q closed his eyes, his jaw relaxing as Bond thrust inwards. His glasses were off, safely stored away somewhere nearby. 

Q was naked, with a butt plug nestled snugly against his entrance, opening him wide as Bond fucked his mouth. He felt exquisitely at ease, wanted in a way he never felt like at the club with doms when he wasn’t in charge. With Bond’s hands in his hair, guiding his mouth, Q didn’t have to think, could completely let go. The scene’s length was out of reach, Q long past losing sense of time. 

James had taken his time, fucking Q with his fingers relentlessly, readying him for the the plug before binding him. Q moaned as James tugged on his hair, his wet cock pulling back from Q’s mouth. He crouched down in front of Q, holding onto his hair so that Q’s chin tilted upwards, his mouth thoroughly fucked, red and swollen. He brushed a thumb over Q’s lips, to which Q took into his mouth, sucking on it. 

“You are full of surprises, Q,” James said, pulling his thumb away before kissing him on the lips, his free hand stroking Q’s cock. Q moaned, thrusting up into Bond’s fist as he yanked on Q’s hair. Then he let go, leaving Q without touch as he stood back up. 

Q shivered as Bond’s fingers trailed across the back of his shoulders. 

“You did so well with me, I hope you find me sufficient?” Bond asked. Q squirmed a little, trying to stretch out his arms. He couldn’t budge, of course. Bond put a pillow down in front of Q and put his hand on the back of Q’s neck. “I want you to lean forward, I’ve got you.” 

Every fiber of Q’s being fought against it, he’d always been horrible at trust exercises, but in the end he gave in, allowing his body to go forward. His cheek pressed against the pillow, his knees still on the other one, his arse in the air, he arched his back, knowing what Bond wanted. 

“Good,” Bond said, his palm resting against Q’s shoulders. “Are you comfortable?” 

“Yes,” Q said in a whisper, his voice barely there as Bond’s hand smoothed over his arse. 

They’d talked in the car, on the way over, about Q’s limits, about what he liked when he submitted. With the first smack of Bond’s hand against his arse, Q whined, biting his lip. Bond knew how to make it sting, leave him wanting more, the ache immediate. That coupled with the plug, Q was completely at Bond’s mercy. He slid a little on the floor with each impact, with Bond holding him in place with one hand on his stomach, the other smacking his arse. 

When Bond stopped, Q could feel his skin throb, imagined how red it was with the blood rushing to the surface. He ached for more, but could do nothing as Bond removed the plug, spreading Q’s cheeks to gaze at him. 

“I’ve dreamed of this,” Bond said, leaning over and mouthing at Q’s reddened cheek, his tongue soothing the ache. The distant sound of a condom brought Q back to reality, his mind wandering, along with the feel of Bond’s hands on his hips as he aligned himself before pressing inwards. 

“Fuck,” Q heard himself say, despite not really feeling as if he was actually in his own body. He could hear himself making noises with each thrust as Bond fucked him, but all he could control was his own erratic breathing as Bond hit his prostate. His toes curled as he buried his face in the pillow, gasping for air as Bond tugged on his hair once more. 

“Come for me, Q, I want to hear you.” Bond kissed the back of his neck, wrapping his arms around Q’s middle as he pulled him up so he was on his knees once more, his back flush against Bond’s chest. Bond fucked him, holding him close with his arms between them. Bond rested a hand on Q’s throat as he moaned, fucking up into him, panting in Q’s ear. 

Q came as Bond kissed him, lewd and demanding, their tongues forceful as Bond stilled within him, coming himself. His thrusts continued, though they slowed as he softened. Q was like a ragdoll in Bond’s hands, able to be moved however he wished. 

His entire body throbbed as Bond cleaned him up with a warm rag, then began to unbind him. Carefully, Bond moved his arms, massaging them from his biceps all the way down to his fingers, which he massaged individually as they cuddled on the couch. Bond was attentive, affectionate as Q rest, wearing a pair of sweatpants that were far too large to be his own. Still, his mind was barely cognizant of what Bond was doing, until he spoke about carrying him. 

“What?” Q asked, blinking. He had his specs on, which he didn’t realize had been put on him at some point. Bond smoothed down Q’s hair. 

“I said ‘Let’s get you to bed even if I have to carry you’.” 

“I can walk,” Q said, untangling their intertwined fingers. His head had been on Bond’s shoulder as well, and his muscles revolted as he tried to get up. 

“Let me help you,” Bond said, helping Q to his feet. “I wasn’t gentle on you.”

“The way I like it, James,” Q said with a smirk. “You’ve done me in,” he said, allowing Bond to hold onto him. “I’m quite out of it.” 

“You’re beautiful when you go into subspace, pliant and responsive,” Bond said, kissing his cheek. Q would blush, if he wasn’t so exhausted. Instead he merely bit his bottom lip. 

“You don’t mind? I can go home--"

“Nonsense,” Bond said as he led Q into his bedroom. “There’s no way I’d kick you out after that. Besides, you accused me of insufficient aftercare. I have to prove myself with you, as always.” 

Q laughed as Bond allowed him to fall into the bed. “I’ve given you paracetamol. You’re going to feel it in the morning, your arms.”

“I’m feeling it now,” Q said, wincing as he stretched his fingers. Bond sat down beside him, taking Q’s hand in his own. 

“Sleep, I’ll wake you in time for work,” Bond said, taking Q’s specs off. It was the last thing he remembered before falling asleep, with Bond’s hand still in his own. 

-

Q woke up alone in bed, but the sheets beside him were still warm to the touch. He opened his eyes, wincing as he stretched out the aches from the evening’s proclivities. It was the kind of pain that he liked to feel, deep down to his bones. He felt incredibly relaxed as he lay there, allowing himself to slowly wake up. 

The sound of footsteps approaching had him sitting up, leaning heavily on an elbow as he reached for the bedside table, hoping to find his specs within reach. They were there, folded just so, waiting for him. As he put them on, Bond came into view, holding a steaming cup of what Q assumed to be tea. He was also very, very naked. 

“This is a pleasant surprise,” Q said as he sat up further, the bedsheet falling into his lap just so, covering him while he lifted an eyebrow at Bond’s nudity and lack of concern for it. Bond handed him the cup. Q practically hummed as he smelled it, an Earl Grey. 

“You look exquisite when you wake up,” Bond said, his fingers raking through Q’s hair, which was probably a mess. “I’ve half a mind to never allow you out of bed.” 

“I could be swayed,” Q said, as he sipped his tea and watched Bond start to dress. “In a rush?”

“I’ve been summoned,” Bond called over his shoulder with a sigh. “It’s early, but I’ve got to head in as soon as I’m able.” Q’s eyes narrowed as he continued to drink his tea, the real world beckoning, their evening together over and done with. Bond might have brought him tea in bed, but that was in no way a promise. He was a double-oh, after all. 

“If you shower I’ll bring you in with me.” 

“I’ve hardly the clothes on hand to go in. Imagine me waltzing into MI-6 in tight trousers and a V-neck-- preposterous, James, really.” 

“I wouldn’t complain,” Bond teased. Q smirked, tossing the sheet off of him. 

“I would have been keen for a second round,” Q said with a sigh, watching Bond knot his tie expertly. Bond shot him a look, clear amusement spreading across his face. 

“If I’m not sent off to Mongolia or the Arctic tundra, I’d very much like to take you up on that offer, Alastair.” 

“I’d like that,” Q said, clearing his throat as he glanced away from Bond. It was as much a confession to feelings as he was willing to admit. He’d fought it, mentally kicking and screaming, having honest feelings for Bond beyond a simple scene. But Bond had gotten under Q’s skin. 

Before Q realized it, Bond stood in front of him, cupping his face with his hands, forcing Q to look up at him. All Q could see was blue, and it completely melted him. Bond’s armour, too, seemed to have been stripped. 

“Promise me you’ll be at my back, Q.” Q thought about the training, about Samuel and his technicians and assistants. He closed his eyes, leaning into one of Bond’s hands. 

“I promise, James,” Q said. “I’ll be the one on the other end of the comm.” 

“That’s all I could ask for me,” Bond said. “I know-- I know that I can’t exactly be who you want me to be. I have to do things while on a mission that I’d rather not, but when I’m here, when I can be with you, that is who I really am. Do you understand?” 

“Yes,” Q said, his voice barely audible as he put his cup down, snug in his lap so that he could put his hands around Bond’s wrists, rubbing his thumbs along Bond’s skin as he held onto his face. “I know what happens on missions, James. But I’d like-- if you could be with me while at home. I couldn’t ask for more, it wouldn’t be fair.”

“I need you at my back, in the field and here. Having you-- I don’t want to lose you. Having you isn’t something I want to give up.” Q smiled, tilting his face up for a kiss. Bond gave it to him, their lips meeting chastely before Bond breathed in. Morning breath and all, he deepened the kiss. “If you’ll have me, Alastair.” 

“Of course,” Q said. “Go on, then, get to headquarters to debrief. I’ll be in shortly to send you off, properly equipped.” 

“Do you want me to drive you to your flat first?” Bond asked. 

“That would be easiest,” Q said with a sigh. 

“I wouldn’t want to leave the Quartermaster stranded... what sort of agent would I be if I did such a thing?” 

“Indeed,” Q said as he got out of bed. Bond didn’t take his eyes off of Q’s arse as he dressed, pulling on his clothes from the night before. 

“You’ll think of me, then?” Bond asked, his voice low. 

“Every time I move,” Q said, honestly. He was sore, but ached for more. It would have to wait, of course. “I’ve merely gotten started on you myself, James. But it will have to wait til you return.” 

“I can’t wait,” Bond said as he stepped forward, seeking out one more kiss. This time, Q deepened it by placing his hand on the back of Bond’s neck, tugging him closer. He smiled against the kiss. He had plans for Bond, as he was sure that Bond had plans for him. They’d merely have to take turns, which was exactly how Q wanted it to be.


End file.
